


Hide Not Your Face

by adorkablephil (kimberly_a)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Fantasy, M/M, Magical Realism, Phandom Reverse Bang 2018, Science Fiction, Scientist AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-04-29 04:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14464857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimberly_a/pseuds/adorkablephil
Summary: Chemistry grad student Phil Lester wants to make the world a better place, but a strange creature named Dan appears when Phil tests a potion intended to get rid of negative emotions.





	1. Experiment

**Author's Note:**

> This story is written for the Tumblr Phandom Reverse Bang in collaboration with the artist @ribenaflip, whose art will be posted with chapter 6, since it illustrates a scene from that chapter. Thank you, Kai, for the inspiration and encouragement! Thanks also to our PRB admin @rwdaf and my secret cabal of treehouse folks.
> 
> Disclaimer: I’ve never played Fortnite and have based my description purely off what I saw in Dan and Phil’s own game on DanAndPhilGames.

It would have been completely unfair to call Phil Lester a drug dealer.

For one thing, he didn’t **sell** drugs, which was rather necessary to the definition of “drug dealer.” For another, none of the drugs he made were actually illegal, which was also implied by that pejorative term. And, lastly, he kept most of his scientific experiments to himself, only rarely distributing them to others, and even then only for testing purposes.

It was just that … he had a problem with the graduate program in chemistry at York, namely that his professors lacked any imagination or curiosity. And, while Phil had the utmost respect for the scholarly knowledge of his instructors, his brain was constantly brimming with creative ideas, and his courses and his advisor consistently discouraged any kind of independent exploration. They all wanted students to focus on recreating experiments that had previously been performed by other people … creative people who had years ago tried new things and made exciting discoveries.

Phil, as a creative person, wanted to try new things and make exciting discoveries for himself.

So he did.

He’d ensured all the necessary privacy for his endeavors, because he lived alone in a flat where he purposely chose to only ever eat takeaway so that he’d been free to transform his flat’s kitchen entirely into a laboratory set-up that almost certainly violated his rather strict lease agreement in significant ways.

The property had originally been a monastery—built in the Middle Ages when the C of E first really began to take over York—but in more recent years some enterprising soul had renovated the ancient building for optimal income potential by dividing it into flats for the population of the nearby university.

Phil loved the Gothic architectural style of the building, its columns and arches and stained glass windows. Whoever had performed the renovation had shown little attention to the original architectural style, though, so Phil’s own flat had only one entire wall made of the original stone, complete with arched details and three beautiful windows of colorful stained glass that extended nearly from floor to ceiling.

The other three walls of the flat were incongruously plain, smooth, painted a dingy shade of white, and quite possibly made of cardboard. This didn’t present too terrible a problem, though, since Phil’s fellow tenants were primarily other quiet graduate students who tended to spend most their time studying, and who also had a bit of fondness for Phil and his tendency to occasionally share his chemical experiments … purely for scientific observation purposes. Since his experiments always tended toward trying to make the world a better and happier place, he never found himself short of willing test subjects among his friendly neighbors.

This month, he’d been particularly focused on trying to find chemical combinations that would produce solutions that significantly improved mood: emphasizing positive emotions and decreasing negative ones. It was a project that had often hovered in the back of his mind over the years, something he wished could somehow be accomplished, but only recently had it become an obsession. Other recent experiments had only been precursors to this one, which he thought of as his most important work.

Phil Lester thought of himself as a good person. In fact, he always tried to be the best person possible, someone his parents and grandparents could be proud of, someone he himself could be proud of. He tried to be polite, kind, cheerful, generous … a force for good in the world. With his own words and actions, he always tried to make the world a better place, and that’s what he hoped to accomplish with his science, as well.

He was deep in thought about what had gone wrong with the most recent version of this potion, leaning over the untidy pile of notes on his kitchen counter, dark-framed glasses sliding down his nose, when he realized he’d been rubbing his fingers against his forehead in the way that usually indicated an oncoming headache. Knowing the most likely trigger was tension, he decided to take a brief break to play some Fortnite, his most recent video game obsession. He found that the game often allowed him to release pent up stress so that he could get back to work with better focus.

Half an hour into the game, he’d just found an assault rifle and was feeling quite pleased with himself when suddenly he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was a fucking grenade! He’d thought himself alone at Salty Springs, but suddenly other players had appeared from around the corner and he found himself running and hiding, firing his newfound assault rifle as quickly as possible, but none of his bullets seemed to find their targets and his opponents continued to hem him in. Any moment, he’d be dead. He ran. He hid. He dodged. He fired his gun like a madman. But the grenades kept coming. “You rotten fucking cock badgers!” he shouted in frustration, just a moment before his character did in fact die, eliminated by someone with the idiotic name of “ArchanoXxxX.”

Phil collapsed back onto the sofa, chest heaving with his rapid breaths, rage rushing through him. So stupid, to feel so emotional about fictional characters in a video game, but he felt as if he’d just run a physical marathon. Chased by grenades. But he wished he didn’t get so angry sometimes when he played the game. It provided good stress relief, but why should he need such ironically aggressive negativity to calm himself down? This no doubt explained a lot of the real life violence in the world.

He couldn’t change the world’s problems, couldn’t change his professors and their narrow minds, but he could perhaps change his own inner emotions so that he no longer felt so … bad … so much stress and unhappiness. He didn’t want to need to vent his frustrations until he worked himself into a fit of rage in order to be able to function calmly afterward.

The world contained enough unhappiness. Enough unpleasantness. Enough anger and violence. Not only Phil but the society at large fell prey too often to negative emotions. But he, Phil, could make the world a better place! Phil knew this formula was the answer. Perhaps it could help not only him but everyone!

Determined, he returned to the stool at his lab table in the kitchen and began once again poring over his notes. He was missing something important. There was something he just wasn’t seeing. If he could only figure out why it wasn’t working! What was wrong with his solution? He analyzed the formula and wracked his brain, trying to solve the problem that had been plaguing him for weeks now.

But eventually a glance at his watch reminded him that at the moment he needed to set aside his experiment in order to attend yet another useless seminar in which nothing new would be discussed, only dusty old theories long ago proven or disproven by people with the determination to actually **do** something, something more than simply sitting in a schoolroom **talking** about things other people had done.

Phil had that determination, too.

But, right now, unfortunately, he also had class.

* * *

It was about 45 minutes later, with Professor Machon droning something about mitochondrial protein translocation, that the answer suddenly appeared in Phil’s mind like a bolt of electricity. It usually happened that way, when he figured out what was going wrong with one of his experiments.

He knew exactly what ingredient was missing from his formula, and that it all needed to be heated at a slightly higher temperature … and then it was finally going to work! The thrill of excitement shivered through him and he desperately wanted to stand up right then and walk out of the seminar, run all the way back to his flat to continue the experiment, make those last necessary changes that would solve everything!

But he stayed in his seat, too embarrassed to interrupt Professor Machon’s boring monologue, even for something so momentous.

 **This**.

This was another thing he would like to control with his potion, this self-doubt and shame and guilt and hesitation. He wanted to feel able to simply live his life happily, not harming anyone, but not drowning in these horrid feelings that only held him back.

Anger, regret, self-doubt, sadness, anxiety, jealousy … the world would be a better place without these kinds of emotions. Phil could make the world a better place, a happier place, and now he knew how to do it.

Which he would promptly do after the illustrious Professor Machon finally shut the fuck up.

* * *

**[excerpt from Philip Lester’s notebook of experimental observations]  
** **13/02/18  
** **15:30 -** Added one additional CHO3 molecule to the formula and heated the solution at 22ºC, which I hope will produce the desired results of reducing negative emotions while allowing positive emotions to remain unaffected.  
**23:00 -** No effect detected. Subject (self) went to bed to sleep. Placed notebook on beside table for additional observations to be made immediately upon waking.

 **14/02/18  
** **07:35 -** Subject woke to discover positive effects of the solution or “potion.” No sign of negative emotions perceived, but positive emotions remain with usual intensity. Joy, hope, humor, and other positive feelings seem unaffected, perhaps even enhanced.  
**07:45 -** Subject discovered unfamiliar presence in the darker corner of the room.

* * *

Sunshine against his face wakened Phil with its gentle warmth. He yawned widely, his cheerful blue and green duvet falling aside as he stretched his arms and let out a happy groan at the feeling of well-rested muscles moving after a long sleep. He looked at his watch to check the time, then eagerly reached toward the bedside table to record his observations in his notebook.

A slight noise drew his attention to the shadowed other side of the room, almost entirely untouched by the sun’s rays streaming in through the bedroom’s beautiful stained glass window. In the darkness there, a shape huddled. It seemed … deformed … as it crouched there, but Phil could see its eyes glaring at him even through the shadows. But then the creature stood, and Phil saw that it was shaped like a man. A very … blurry man.

Phil groped for his glasses on the bedside table and put them on. The shape came into focus and Phil saw a young man with dark hair flattened to his head, dull and lifeless, with huge dark eyes staring balefully at Phil in his sunlit bed. The creature’s skin looked gray with perhaps even a tinge of green, though that may have been only a bit of diffuse light from the stained glass.

“You did this to me,” the revolting creature pointed at him and croaked.

Phil had always been slow to wake in the morning, but now he was trying to force himself, because this was a very odd situation indeed and he needed full alertness to deal with it. “What are you doing in my flat?” he demanded in his own croaky morning voice.

“You did this to me,” the apparition repeated, its voice louder now, anger and some other ugly emotion bubbling up within the words.

Phil threw off the bedclothes and leapt to his feet, trying to look as imposing as possible in his Star Wars pyjama pants. “I don’t know what happened to you, but it wasn’t me. Whatever it was, you probably deserved it. I don’t know how you got in here but you’d best leave!” Phil was ready to start this new life, his heart filled with excitement and joy at the prospects that lay before him now that he had perfected the formula. That happy life most definitely did not include this disgusting creature.

“No!” cried the creature. “No! You have to fix me! You can’t leave me like this! How did you even … what did you do to me?” The thing was weeping now in huge, wracking sobs.

Phil hesitated, unable to avoid feeling sympathy for the pathetic thing before him. But he did not want this sort of element in his life, so he forced himself to be strong and insisted, pointing resolutely toward the door, and the man-like bundle of sorrow meekly shuffled out of Phil’s flat, leaving him feeling relieved and ready to face a grand new day.


	2. Creature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mysterious creature names himself "Dan" and experiences a harsh world that evokes a lot of difficult feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is written for the Phandom Reverse Bang on Tumblr. Thank you again to the artist @ribenaflip (Kai) and our admin @rwdaf (Alex), both of whom were very encouraging and helpful!

 

The creature slunk out of Phil’s flat into a shadowy hallway with stone steps leading both up and down. Miserable in his banishment, he knew instinctively that he should exit the building, and so began to walk down the steps toward what would presumably be the door Phil had been pointing him toward when he insisted that the creature leave.

On the steps, a young man ascending scowled at the sight of him and said, “You know you lot can’t sleep in our stairwells. We’ve told you often enough. There’s places for your kind. Now get out!”

“My kind?” thought the creature. “There are others like me?”

He stumbled out the large wooden front door and into weak sunlight. The air chilled his skin, and he vigorously rubbed his hands along his arms, trying to warm himself. He looked down and saw that his skin was a dirty grayish color where it showed, and that he wore black trousers and a black shirt that left his arms bare to the elements. His feet were bare. He felt disgusted at the sight of himself.

Clearly, others felt the same, as he noticed disapproving looks from the people passing by. One very small girl pointed at him and said, “Look, Mummy! Ugly!”

Her mother jerked the girl away by the hand and shushed her, but he was hurt enough to yell after them, “You’re uglier than I am! You’re hideous! You’re ugly on the inside, because you’re mean to someone you don’t even know!” The girl’s mother glared at him and hurried her daughter away from the crazy person.

He was breathing hard, his heart pounding, and he just wanted to punch something, just to get all this pain out of his body. Maybe if he punched the wall, then at least the pain in his hand might make him forget about the pain in his soul, but … well … that stone wall looked pretty hard. He decided he didn’t feel the need to punch it quite that badly. Instead, he sank down to sit on the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, curling into a ball of misery. Huddled up so tightly, he felt a bit warmer, too, though his bare feet were beginning to ache from the chill.

And then came the first friendly voice he had ever heard, “Dan, old fellow! Good to see you!” He raised his head to see a man in somewhat ragged clothing, none too clean, shuffling toward him, but the man’s face changed when he saw the creature properly—first to confusion, then a sort of disgust. The man raised his hands in apology, explaining quickly, “No offense, mate. Thought you were someone else.”

The first time anyone had spoken kindly to him, and it was only because they thought he was someone else.

The creature felt tears sting his eyes and buried his head in his knees again, ashamed that this stranger might see him crying. But after a long pause, the shuffling footsteps continued to approach, and the friendly voice sounded softer now, kind, when it asked gently, “Mate. You cold? Hungry? I can show you where to get a coat, maybe a pair of shoes. And St. Mary’s does soup at half past twelve if you don’t mind the queue.” The creature looked up again, feeling the tears on his own face, and saw this stranger smile at him.

He’d never seen a smile before. He didn’t trust it.

He’d seen the expression on the man’s face a moment ago—this stranger loathed the sight of him, just like everyone else walking past, so no doubt this was nothing but mockery. “I don’t need your bloody pity or your bloody help,” he grumbled and clenched his arms tighter around his knees, staring down at the dirty pavement.

The other man seemed to take no offense, simply extending a hand and offering, “My name’s Henry. Let’s get you into some warmer kit, yeah? Must be freezing with those bare feet.” The creature hesitated, then reluctantly took the offered hand, because his feet really were quite cold. The man named Henry helped pull him to standing, then patted him on the back. “And what’s your name then?”

The creature thought a moment. He had no name, not that he knew of. But then he thought of the first kind word he’d heard in his entire existence, and he replied hesitantly, “You can call me Dan.”

Henry laughed at that and replied, “Well, isn’t that a coincidence! Here I thought you were my mate Dan Frasier—look a bit like him, what with the dark hair and the black clothes and whatnot—and turns out you’re a Dan all the same!”

The creature—“Dan,” he thought to himself. “I’m going to call myself Dan, because Dan is a real person, a person someone people care about.”—Dan fell into step beside the jovial Henry, who kept up a running conversation that did not require much participation on his part. That was fine with Dan. He listened, and Henry sounded friendly, and that was better than anything else he’d experienced in the world thus far.

* * *

Henry took him to some place where friendly people helped him find a coat and shoes that fit him well enough, and Dan felt much more comfortable, though he refused to thank anyone. Why should he have to grovel with gratitude because he now had a coat and shoes like any other person? He scowled at them, but they just smiled in return.

Henry introduced him to a few friends there, and they all seemed nice enough, apparently unfazed by Dan’s surly demeanor, as if they had experience with his kind of rudeness. One white-haired woman, however, pushed her way through the crowd to glare up at Dan and pointed at him. “You’re not real!” she accused with obvious indignation. “You’re something unnatural!” Dan stared at her in horror, not knowing what to do. “You’re just … a container! You’re just an empty box filled with unwanted things!” she screeched. People were staring now, and Dan hated her. “You, you’re nothing! You’re empty inside, nothing but a shell filled with ugliness, nothing but a demon … a golem… a simulacrum!” But at that moment Henry just put an arm around the woman and gently guided her away.

“There, there, Clara,” Henry soothed her. “It’s all right.” He shot Dan a look of apology, but Dan fancied he saw something else there, too. As if Henry too wasn’t quite sure about Dan, despite all his kindness. It made Dan even less sure about himself.

Deciding he should probably leave before they tossed him out as Phil had done, he walked out into the watery sunshine in his new coat and shoes, slightly less susceptible to the elements but otherwise feeling just as angry and miserable and pathetically helpless as before.

He watched all the people scurrying past. They all had places to go, places to be, things to do. But Dan didn’t. He had nothing. Nothing and no one and nowhere to go. His head hung low as he began to walk slowly, aimlessly.

He bumped shoulders with someone hurrying past, and Dan felt a sudden surge of emotions he couldn’t understand—fear and anger and shame and embarrassment—so he growled, “Watch it!” and kept walking, still not quite watching where he was headed. Why did he feel afraid, just because someone had bumped him on the street? And why did that make him angry? And, even more mysterious, why should he feel ashamed or embarrassed? None of it made any sense to him, and that itself frustrated him and made him a little angry.

What had that Phil done to him? Somehow, he knew the man’s name was Phil, though he couldn’t explain the reason he was so certain of that fact. But the certainty that this Phil person had done something to him was equally strong. Dan’s first memory was the dark corner of Phil’s flat where the light from the bright stained glass windows did not reach. He remembered seeing Phil stretching in that colorful, comfortable-looking bed, those pale arms spreading wide as the man yawned into a contented smile. And Dan had hated him in that moment. Hated him for being colorful and comfortable and bright and happy. Because Dan himself felt none of those things and he was painfully, painfully jealous. He’d felt emotions surging through him, and they had all felt terrible. Sorrow and fear and self-doubt and anger. So much anger.

Just remembering, he felt the rage surge through him again. What right did Phil have to such a perfect life? What right did he have to do this, whatever this was, whatever he had done to Dan to make him like this, and then just kick him out onto the street?

Dan wanted to run right back to Phil’s flat and kill him. Shout at him and hit him and kill him and take all the lovely things that Phil had and that Dan didn’t and that Dan wanted.

This was not fair. This absolutely was not fair. And it made Dan so very angry.

But also a bit sad. And sorry for himself.

Because didn’t he deserve better? Didn’t he deserve nice things? Didn’t he deserve to have friends and places to go like all these other people did? Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t deserve it. Maybe this was all there was for him. Maybe his whole life would be like this. Just stumbling along the streets, alone, in someone else’s shoes that didn’t quite fit and no socks so the heels rubbed at his skin and he would have blisters.

He crossed the road when he saw a small park on the other side. Drivers honked at him, and he yelled obscenities at them in return. It felt good to let out some of that emotion, felt good to yell instead of cry, when all he wanted to do was cry.

Sitting down on a bench in the little park, he gazed down at the grass, examined the worn toes of someone else’s shoes on his feet, and feared for his future. Feared that it would always be this way, that he would never have anything nice or good or lovely. He didn’t realize tears were running down his face until an old woman walking past frowned at him disapprovingly and said, “Be a proper man, boy! You should be out getting a job, not just sitting in the park crying like an infant.” She shook her head in obviously disgusted disapproval.

Hurt that she would blame him for something that wasn’t his fault overcame Dan and he leapt to his feet. He’d show her! He grabbed the old woman’s ugly handbag off her arm, wresting it away from her when she tried to resist, and began to run. Ha! Let her see what it was like to have nothing! He hoped it made her cry!

Behind him, he could hear her shrill cries of “Police! Police! I’ve been robbed!” but there were no police nearby, and Dan simply ran until he was out of sight, then immediately slowed to a walk and tossed the handbag into the nearby shrubbery. He hadn’t wanted the handbag—he’d just wanted to make the old woman suffer the way he was suffering. He hoped something very dear to her was in the bag, and that she would never get it back. Because she was cruel and hateful and deserved to hurt.

 _But am I cruel and hateful for feeling that way?_ Dan thought to himself. _Do I deserve to hurt? Is that why this is all happening? Because I deserve it? Am I … am I … evil?_

The thought made him stop walking. He’d left the park some time ago. He couldn’t even remember how long ago, or how long he’d been walking. He found a seat at a bus stop and sat down for a while, watching the people come and go. They all seemed so full of purpose, hurrying somewhere to do something important. Some of them were holding hands or smiling at each other or even kissing. Dan hated them. And at the same time he wanted what they had.

He felt tears in his eyes again and dashed them away, shamed by his own weakness, remembering the words of the old woman in the park. That he was not a proper man. That crying was for infants.

Well, of course he was not a proper man. He was just a … a thing. A creature. Something unnatural the man Phil had created. For Dan was now certain that Phil had created him somehow. Why else would he have no memories from before that morning in the corner of Phil’s flat? And that woman, Clara, she had seen it in him, that lack. She had known that he wasn’t a real person, just a sham … a … what was the strange word she’d used? A **simulacrum**.

And if he was not a man, if he was just a creature, an unnatural thing, then why should he ever have anything good? Perhaps he was created only for this, for a life of pain and rejection and unkindness, and he raged at the thought. How dare this man Phil do this to him? How dare he create Dan for this life of misery? What kind of monster was Phil, that he would wish this on Dan for no reason?

Dan could feel a vein pulsing in his forehead as the fury built inside him. He would go back to that flat. He would go back there, and he would make Phil pay. He would make him pay, and he would take all the beautiful things that Phil had—the comfortable bed, the soft duvet, the brightly colored stained glass windows—and he would have them for himself. He would take them by force, because he didn’t care how or why Phil had done this to him, but it was not fair, not fair at all, and Dan was not going to allow it.

Without even realizing how it had happened, he found himself at a familiar wooden door in a familiar building made of gray stone. As if some instinct had drawn him here, he was back at the door he had exited this morning. The sun was beginning to set now. Dan had no idea how many hours he had been gone, but he felt he had learned too much about the world in that time. It was a hard place. There were too few Henrys and too many old women with ugly handbags. It was a cold world in ways from which the second-hand coat and shoes could not protect him.

Setting his shoulders with determination, Dan opened the wooden door and found himself once again in the dim entryway. He stomped up the stone steps until he found himself at the plain door that he knew led to the flat in which he had first become aware only this morning. Now that he stood here, though, doubt began to assail him, beating him about the head like a flock of dark birds. But he tried to shore up his courage and knocked firmly on the door. He was going to take this beautiful life for himself. Why should this Phil person have everything good, and nothing for Dan? It wasn’t right, and Dan wanted warmth and color and light and comfort, and he was going to take them! Like the old woman’s handbag, he would grab them from Phil and take them!

The door opened, and the man from this morning stood there in the doorway, pale and shining and lovely, a gentle smile falling from his face at the sight of Dan. And all of Dan’s righteous indignation fell away in an instant, replaced with a flood of grief. “What did you do to me?” he cried in anguish. Those damnable tears began flowing again. “You did something, and everything is horrible, and I have nowhere to go, and you have everything.” An idea came to him as he saw the flat behind Phil, with the colors stretching on the floor from the setting sun shining through the windows. “Let me stay here. At least let me stay here? Whatever has happened, it’s your fault, and it’s been a horrid day, and I just want a warm place to stay, so … please?” The tears flowed freely down his cheeks now, much to Dan’s humiliation. He choked out, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

And with a heavy sigh, the smile gone from his face, the man Phil opened the door wider and let Dan in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this right before I leave on vacation, so I'm going to try to remember to post Chapter 3 in about a week while I'm still in Hawaii. It's all written and ready ... it's just a question of whether I remember while I'm sipping mai tais. ;)


	3. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan returns to Phil's flat and Phil struggles with conflicting emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everybody at Phandom Reverse Bang on Tumblr, especially Kai and Alex. There wasn’t much interest in the first two chapters of this story, so I’m going to post a couple more chapters at once to see if maybe I can get past the slow beginning and maybe people will become more interested. (These chapters won’t make any sense if you don’t read the first two, though.)

**[excerpt from Philip Lester’s notebook of experimental observations]  
****14/02/18  
****07:55 -** Ejected trespassing creature (man?) from the premises. Subject (self) experienced feelings of revulsion in the creature’s presence, utterly at odds with all other concurrent positive emotions, aside from an uncomfortable conflict with the feeling of sympathy. Easily resolved once the creature had gone.  
**08:00 -** Ensured that remaining 150 ml of potion was safely secured in a sealed glass bottle in temperature-controlled container at precisely 15° Celsius. Effects on initial subject to be observed for one week **(UNTIL 15:30 HOURS 20/02/18)** before application to additional volunteer test subjects. In reaction to the experiment’s apparent initial success, subject perceived feelings of contentment, excitement, pride, hope, and even elation.  
**08:30 -** Subject departed flat and found positive emotions stimulated further by external environment. The brisk coolness of a breeze against the skin, the beautiful pale light of the sun, the sight and sound of birds taking flight nearby, the shining faces of busy passersby in their colorful clothing—all inspired feelings of happiness, optimism, and good will.  
**08:45 -** Subject tasted coffee for the first time since ingestion of the potion. Bliss.  
**09:00 -** Subject felt an unusual degree of appreciation for Professor Solomon’s seminar on “Advanced Chromatin Structure” and contributed to the discussion with enthusiasm.

* * *

It was a glorious day.

Phil felt as if he’d had the best night’s sleep of his life, as he felt more cheerful and energetic than any other time he could remember. Everything he saw or heard just served to make him even happier. And he felt none of his usual self-doubt or anxiety.

He’d finally perfected his experimental solution. He felt certain of it.

His entire life, he’d been dreaming of this. Despite his naturally cheerful disposition, he’d suffered moments of unhappiness, like most people. He’d sometimes felt almost crippled by anxiety and self-doubt. And worst of all had been the moments when he’d lost his temper. Speaking or acting in anger always made him feel guilty for weeks afterward. Even just shouting at the video game had shamed him! He wanted to always be generous and kind, always be able to see the other person’s perspective, never a bother or problem. This was what he had always wanted: to be simply happy.

After Professor Solomon’s fascinating discussion in seminar, Phil decided to go for a bit of a walk before returning to his flat. The day was so beautiful, he just didn’t want to hide away in his literally monastic flat away from the fresh air and sunshine. So he walked through a local park, enjoying the sounds of the birds in the trees, the sight of the bright yellow daffodils, the jewel-like green of the grass. Springtime in London was so lovely!

He smiled at the people he passed along the path, and some of them smiled back. The majority ignored him, as Londoners are wont to do, but Phil understood that they most likely had things on their mind. He hoped that their days went well.

Eventually, he could no longer wait to return to his flat, because he wanted to reexamine his notes and make a more organized, formal description of his process. This formula might very well change the world, and so Phil knew its importance could not be exaggerated. He was proud of his achievement, but primarily because he hoped that it would help many people to live happier, more productive lives … that it might in fact significantly reduce or even eradicate the world’s problems resulting from anger, sadness, fear, greed, and other negative emotions. He imagined a world with no more war, a world in which everyone felt kindness and generosity toward others!

He nearly raced home after those thoughts, eager to reexamine his notes and prepare them for presentation to a more global community of chemists. Should he publish in one of the more highly respected journals? Or should he instead post the results of his research directly onto the Internet, where chemists all over the world would be able to access the information immediately instead of waiting for the tedious publication process?

Well, in any case, he first needed to allow this first week of observation to pass, taking careful notes on the potion’s effects on himself. And then he would test the formula on a random assortment of other willing test subjects—or as random as he could obtain. He already had a list of students who had participated in previous tests, but he would put up notices on campus and elsewhere in York tomorrow. Online, as well, and perhaps even in the newspaper. Older residents might still get their news from the newspaper, and it would be best to test the formula on subjects as diverse as possible.

Contemplating all of this over a cup of steaming tea and his piles of notes, Phil unexpectedly heard his doorbell chime. While he did have a number of friends, none of them were likely to drop by without the politeness of advance notice. Still, perhaps someone had stopped in just to say hello because they happened to be in the neighborhood. He went to the door with a smile. 

* * *

The smile left his face quickly when he saw the wretched creature that had rung his doorbell. Phil felt an immediate rush of sympathy for the … thing … of course he did. How could he not? But, really, what could one expect? The creature had in fact broken into his flat last night, crouching creepily in the corner until Phil had woken and forced it to leave. What even **was** it? Not a **man** , surely. But this was no science-fiction film, and so Phil could not think of what else it might be.

It **spoke** like a man—a very pitiful man—babbling entreaties and weeping so pathetically on Phil’s doorstep that he motioned the thing inside to at least give it some privacy in its distress. Once he’d had a moment to think, he would decide what to do.

As the creature entered the room, Phil saw that it was—in fact—a man, its deformed appearance merely the result of shoulders bunching up toward the ears and rounding forward in a defensive posture as the creature … the thing … the … young man? As the … young man wrapped his arms around himself, greasy head ducked down as if expecting a blow at any moment.

Protectively hunched over and contorted like that, the fellow did not look quite human now in the shadows of the flat at sunset, and so Phil understood his own morning assumptions before sunlight had even touched the windows, leaving the room quite dark. Yes, this was a man, but Phil completely understood why anyone might doubt the fact in dim lighting and wonder what monstrous thing they faced.

And, to be honest, the morning’s feeling of revulsion persisted, though Phil did not understand its intensity. Phil wanted nothing more than for this person to vacate the premises again and never return. Phil had a great many things to do, and this fellow’s situation, whatever it was, provided a distraction and complication he would prefer not to deal with. As in the morning, however, this instinctive antipathy warred with an equally instinctive wish to be kind, to be generous, and so Phil reluctantly welcomed the thing—he still had difficulty thinking of it as a person—into his home.

The manthing continued to cry fat, streaming tears, begging and thanking Phil in words that flowed so quickly they could barely be distinguished.

Phil interrupted him. The man’s hair was filthy, and Phil gauged the parts of him covered by clothing would likely be no better. “You should take a shower,” Phil said bluntly. The sobs grew even louder, but the fellow nodded in obvious eagerness, and so Phil herded him toward the bathroom, where the grimy sight disappeared behind a closed door and Phil heard the shower turn on.

The young man—man? why did Phil feel so hesitant to label him so?—would need some clean clothes, as the ones he wore looked ready for the bin, and Phil certainly had enough to spare. If he’d guessed correctly, despite the fellow’s contorted position he seemed similar in size to Phil himself, so he picked out a clean pair of jeans, one of his least favorite t-shirts, a hoodie, and some pants and socks.

He knocked on the bathroom door, but heard only the sounds of the shower inside. He opened the door a mere crack and shouted, “I’m leaving clean clothes for you outside the door.” He closed the door again before hearing any response and set the pile of clothing on the floor. Phil then returned to his kitchen laboratory, his pile of notes, and his cup of tea, though it had now grown rather unpleasantly cold. He dumped it down the sink and put on a fresh kettle. The fellow in the shower certainly looked like he too could do with a cuppa.

And perhaps then Phil could send him on his way. He imagined himself afterward with the glowing feeling of having done a good deed for a very odd and unpleasant stranger whom he would never see again.

* * *

The form that emerged from the bathroom in Phil’s own clothing looked decidedly more human, though the shoulders still hunched unattractively. The fellow’s skin now looked more pale than gray, and his hair, no longer flat with grease, now looked rather unruly in thick, shaggy waves. He could seriously use a haircut, but the features now more visible on his cleaned face were surprisingly handsome. The smooth, boyish jawline made him look softly vulnerable, and his lips looked plump and pink, though a bit chapped.

Why was Phil looking at this stranger’s lips? He abruptly averted his gaze upward.

The eyes that did not quite meet Phil’s were an almost golden shade of brown—like the tea before he’d added the milk—red-rimmed, no doubt by tears. Without a word, Phil held out a mug of piping hot tea, milky and sweet, and the cringing young man took it with pathetic gratitude.

They both drank their tea in silence for a moment, and then Phil asked, “What’s your name?”

The other man mumbled several words into his steaming mug, but Phil thought perhaps he’d understood half of them. “Your name is Don?”

“Don” shrugged uncomfortably, glancing toward the floor, and Phil guessed that was the best answer he was going to get out of him. Don just kept slowly sipping the tea, closing his eyes and holding the mug with both hands as if trying to get warm, though the radiator was working just fine and the flat was quite comfortable. Phil watched him, puzzled, forgetting the mug in his own hands.

When Don had finished his tea, though Phil had barely touched his own, he handed the mug back to Phil and said, much more clearly, “Thank you for that. It was lovely. The most lovely thing all day.” His voice sounded surprisingly posh and articulate coming from such a hunched and pathetic figure, but he looked at Phil with a tremulous smile, and Phil felt an upwelling of generosity and kindness for this poor fellow to whom a simple cup of tea had been such a blessing.

But Phil reminded himself that he had things to do. Important things. And this man had his own life to live … elsewhere. Phil was glad he’d been able to offer some simple comforts, but it was time for Don to continue on his way. But apparently Phil’s thoughts had been evident on his face, because Don rushed forward, hands reaching out as if to touch Phil’s but then pulling away again and wringing together anxiously.

“I know you don’t want me here,” Don said, his voice desperate as it had been in the doorway but more intelligible now. “I know that you told me to go away. But … I did bad things when I was out there today. I yelled at people … and I stole a woman’s handbag … and I was angry and frightened and…” Don stopped, but not as if he had finished speaking. Rather as if he was having trouble finding words or courage for what he wanted to say. He looked into Phil’s face, his brown eyes hollow and sad, and he admitted solemnly, “I wasn’t a good person out there. I didn’t like the person I was.” He looked down at his hands as they clung to each other in desperation. He spoke more quietly, more sadly when he continued, “Maybe I’m still not a good person.” He looked up to meet Phil’s gaze again and said, “But I don’t feel so angry here. Nor so afraid. I feel … safer … better … here.” He looked down at his hands again, sparing Phil that intense gaze, and pled miserably, “Please? I know you don’t want me here, but … please? May I stay?”

* * *

 **[excerpt from Philip Lester’s notebook of experimental observations]  
****14/02/18  
****17:55** \- The creature has returned and appears to be a young man, or at least in man shape, though his/its origins remain mysterious. How did it gain entrance to my bedroom this morning? Why does it seem so repugnant to me when all other negative emotions seem to have abated or disappeared? And why do I also feel an odd and unexplainable connection to this creature? I have reluctantly agreed to allow him to stay in the flat overnight. I wish only for him (it?) to be gone, but gentler emotions, no doubt strengthened by the potion, make it impossible for me to reject him entirely. Surely none of this pertains in any important way to the experiment at hand, but I record these observations purely for scientific thoroughness, for one never knows what seemingly insignificant detail may later contribute to a crucial breakthrough!

* * *

Phil ordered Indian for supper and set aside his work to share an uncomfortably silent meal with his unwelcome guest. Don did not speak at all and kept his eyes, for the most part, directed toward his food, his hands, or the floor.

When Phil prepared for bed, he gave Don a blanket and pillow so that he might make himself comfortable on the sofa in the lounge. But the young man would not be happy with even that much. Why must he always ask for more than Phil wished to give?

“May I sleep in your room?” Don asked, stammering. He blushed brightly and quickly explained, “Not in your bed, of course! Of course not! Just … perhaps … in the corner? Where I woke this morning? I don’t mind the floor. And I feel…” he hesitated, then looked up to meet Phil’s gaze, those golden brown eyes full of entreaty, “I feel safer … closer to you.” He shrugged a shoulder awkwardly and looked away again, toward the aforementioned corner. There was longing in his body language as well as his eyes, and Phil found that the plea touched his heart. He certainly did not want this stranger—this creature that did not even seem quite human—sleeping in his bedroom, but his own kind heart would not allow him to refuse.

* * *

During the night, Phil woke to the sound of Don whimpering in the darkness. “Don?” Phil whispered, but received no answer. Was the thing having nightmares?

Lying awake now in his bed, unable to fall back asleep, Phil contemplated the fact that though he felt sympathy, he didn’t actually feel **bad** at the thought that this Don suffered.

To be honest, Phil simply didn’t **feel** bad anymore.

Sorrow and guilt and pain and doubt … all were gone. The potion had been successful in accomplishing that! He prided himself on the fact that he did not feel angry that Don had returned. Anger, too, had been eradicated, of course. He just felt sympathy for the poor soul, that distant kind of sympathy that is so easy when it does not inconvenience our lives.

He certainly did not want this Don to suffer, but he really just wished that the whole issue would disappear, that it would no longer inconvenience Phil personally. He longed for Don to leave, so that Phil did not have to see him or deal with him, and Phil could return to the happiness of the earlier part of his day.

He did not want to face this … ugliness in his life. This … unhappiness. This … suffering. It was unpleasant.

He’d given this Don fellow a place to sleep, hadn’t he? Most people would not have done even that much! He felt a bit better as he thought this, but also some small voice in the back of his mind wondered why he worked so hard to convince himself.

* * *

And, somehow, Phil found himself not forcing Don to leave in the morning. Don implored silently, simply gazing at Phil with such sadness in his eyes, that Phil agreed that he could stay another night. It would be cruel to force Don to leave, and the potion had leached all cruelty from Phil’s psyche, so he allowed the man to stay.

It continued for three more days, in fact. Phil came and went to the university, trying to ignore Don’s presence, trying to focus on his tedious coursework and much more fascinating experimental observations regarding the potion, the effects of which seemed to be permanent, much to Phil’s joy and pride.

But it was difficult to ignore the morose, shadowy presence that lurked around the flat. Don apparently figured out how to play Fortnite on the PlayStation, because before coming into the flat after a day at the university, Phil often heard him through the door, loudly berating the game with elaborate insults. When Phil opened the door, however, Don always leapt off the sofa as if burnt by hot coals and retreated to loiter in the corner of the bedroom where his pillow and blanket lay, as if he were a dog with a bed on the floor.

Strangely enough, when Phil himself played Fortnite now, he never became particularly emotionally invested. He enjoyed the challenge of the game, but he never shouted or raged at the screen as he once had … or as Don did, when he did not know that Phil could hear him.

This cringing, unstable, unpleasant creature seemed to embody all the things Phil had previously disliked about himself, and so having him always nearby felt like constantly reopening a wound that had barely begun to heal. Don was anxious, sad, pessimistic, guilty, and occasionally even frustrated or annoyed, though he seemed to try to hide those feelings from Phil, always making abject apologies if he expressed aggravation, as if constantly afraid that Phil might force him to leave again.

Phil wondered why he **didn’t** force him to leave again.

The problem was the damned sympathy, kindness, generosity—all the things he had wanted to strengthen with his potion—they wouldn’t allow him to put Don out on the streets … and yet he could barely stand to be in the unpleasant man’s presence.

So they lived an awkward life together those few days. Until Phil received a text from his younger brother, Martyn that changed his plans.

 **Martyn:** _pls come home at the wknd!_

The exclamation point indicated that Martyn was clearly extremely upset. Martyn rarely bothered with punctuation in his texts.

Don’s response surprised him. When Phil said he’d be gone for a couple days, Don begged him not to leave. Even when Phil reluctantly offered to allow Don to stay in the flat while he was gone, Don still wept and pled for him not to leave him alone. In the end, he actually closed the door in Don’s face and ran down the stairs until he could no longer hear the sobs echoing from his own flat.

* * *

After two fairly uneventful days with his family in Rawtenstall, Phil was still on the train back to York when he received an unexpected text from Martyn. They’d just seen each other! What did his little brother want now? The conversation made little sense to him.

 **Martyn:** _what ws that all about_

 **Phil:** _What do you mean?_

 **Martyn:** _with mum n dad_

 **Phil:** _I just want everyone to be happy._

 **Martyn:** _well im not happy!_

 **Phil:** _What did you want me to do, Martyn?_

 **Martyn:** _i wnted u to stnd up for me!_

 **Phil:** _Stand up for you how?_

 **Martyn:** _…_

 **Martyn:** _nvr mind “BRO”_

 **Martyn:** _wont bother you nxt time_


	4. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending more time with Dan, Phil has a dramatic realization.

When the door closed behind Phil, Dan stood there for a moment staring at it until he heard the key turn in the lock and knew that Phil had really left. Then Dan turned to rest his back against the wall and slowly slid down to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.

Phil had said that he would be gone for “a couple of days,” but that Dan could stay here while he was gone. Dan had heard the reluctance in his voice. He knew Phil didn’t want him here, whether Phil was present or not.

And he kept calling him “Don,” but Dan hadn’t felt brave enough to correct him. What right did Dan have to that name, anyway. He had just chosen it for himself because of one kind person. Because of a mistake.

Rage boiled up in him all of a sudden. Phil had no right to treat him with such callous disregard! Whatever had happened to Dan—whatever had caused him to appear so mysteriously and feel so unnatural—he knew for certain that Phil had played some role in it, but he refused to even listen to anything Dan said.

The rage subsided again as Dan admitted to himself that he hadn’t actually attempted to say much of anything. He hadn’t wanted to bother Phil, frightened that Phil would finally make him leave permanently if he became a true nuisance and not just a quiet annoyance.

The anger surged again. Dan was more than just a nuisance, more than just an annoyance! Maybe he didn’t know how he’d come to be here, but now he had a right to all of the good things that Phil had! Why should Phil have this happy, beautiful life, while Dan cowered in the shadows, begging for scraps? And why should Phil spend all his time in that stupid kitchen laboratory, poring over those stupid notebooks and papers, tinkering with all those bits of glass and metal while Dan sat, alone and ignored, in the same flat?

Dan rose to his feet and strode into the kitchen. He pictured himself smashing the whole lot. Everything. Every piece of glass, every delicate metal instrument, swept off the table and ground under the soles of his second-hand shoes. He picked up a beaker and hefted it in his hand, then raised his arm, preparing to throw it across the room, imagining the satisfying crash when the glass shattered against the wall.

But then he imagined Phil’s face when he returned and saw the wreckage. Phil, who was always so happy. Phil, who was, at the very worst, indifferent. He imagined Phil finally truly hurt, truly sad.

Dan didn’t imagine that Phil would be angry, but he did imagine that Phil would regret the loss of his precious equipment, and that he would rightfully blame Dan for repaying his kindness with such betrayal. And Dan didn’t want to see that expression on Phil’s face, didn’t want to see those pale eyes look at him in disappointment and regret … regret that he had agreed to help Dan in the first place.

Even if Dan’s very presence was somehow Phil’s fault.

Carefully, so very carefully, knowing that it was dear to Phil, Dan set the beaker back onto the counter. He stood there, glancing down at Phil’s loose pages of notes, but they were just a bunch of letters and numbers with arrows and other symbols. They meant something to Phil, something important, but they made no sense to Dan.

None of this made any sense to Dan.

And he already missed Phil.

Why should he miss someone who barely acknowledged his existence? And yet he did. Phil, working so excitedly at his lab table. Phil, with his black hair falling across his forehead. Phil, impatiently pushing his glasses up when they began to slide down his nose because he was leaning forward too enthusiastically. Phil, who looked so beautiful when the colors of the stained glass dyed his pale skin a myriad of hues before he woke in the morning. Phil, with his warm, ready smile.

Except when he looked at Dan.

He never smiled when he looked at Dan.

And Dan suddenly realized that he really wished that, even just once, he could see Phil smile at him like that, with that happy expression Dan had only glimpsed occasionally when Phil forgot he was there and didn’t realize he was looking.

Everything felt better when Phil was there. Now he remembered being out on the street, how unkind everyone had been, the woman with the handbag, the little girl who said he was ugly.

Dan walked to the bedroom and lay down on his blanket in the corner. The light from the stained glass windows shone in vivid colors across the rest of the room, across the floor and Phil’s soft bed. Dan didn’t know for sure that it was soft, of course, but he imagined that it was. It looked soft.

Holding back tears, Dan hugged his pillow and pulled the blanket up to cover him in his corner where the multi-colored light never reached, and he tried to sleep. Perhaps he could sleep for days. Perhaps he could sleep until Phil came home.

* * *

He woke to the rumble of his stomach. Based on the dimness of the room, he had slept for several hours. He went to the kitchen, but realized that Phil had always provided their meals. Another example of his kindness to Dan. Dan felt a rush of affection for this person who really had been kind to him, but whom Dan had given too little gratitude. He would do better about that when Phil returned.

Dan opened the refrigerator, but saw only glass containers containing substances that definitely did not look like food. Rummaging then through the cabinets, he found only a box of biscuits. He had no money, no way of obtaining food, and no real idea of how he would go about doing it anyway.

The thought crossed his mind that he could leave—could find his way to St. Mary’s, perhaps they would give him soup as Henry had suggested—but his heart tightened in his chest at the thought of abandoning Phil’s apartment, perhaps never seeing Phil again. Or, even worse, coming back to find Phil here, Phil not allowing him back inside.

No, he wouldn’t take the chance of leaving. He felt safest with Phil nearby, but for now at least he had Phil’s things around him.

He ate a biscuit. It was stale, but he ate it anyway.

He played some Fortnite, trying to pass the time, but mostly just sulked in his solitude.

* * *

That night, he curled up again in his corner with his blanket and pillow. The blanket and pillow that Phil had given him. He hadn’t needed to do that, but he had. Because he was kind. Dan smiled to himself, thinking of Phil’s moments of kindness toward him. He tried to block out all the times when Phil had ignored him or seemed impatient or expressly insisted that Dan leave. He tried to just remember the moments when he’d seen the good in Phil, and he smiled to himself again and curled up under his blanket and tried to sleep, even though he’d slept much of the day.

He would sleep as much as he could to speed the time until Phil returned.

* * *

The next day, Dan roamed the flat a bit, looking at the books on Phil’s shelves, which surprisingly included quite a few novels among the boring textbooks. Dan flipped through them but didn’t find anything to catch his interest. He was just passing time.

When he couldn’t stand the hunger anymore, he ate another biscuit. There weren’t many, so he was going to have to make them last. He wasn’t sure precisely when Phil planned to return, and there wouldn’t be any additional food until then.

He sat for a while on the sofa in the lounge, but didn’t pick up the PlayStation controller. In the afternoon, light shone very brightly indeed through the windows, spangling Dan himself with all the colors of the rainbow as he sat there. He basked in the imagined warmth, feeling only slightly guilty, as if the bright hues belonged to Phil, as if Dan’s illicit enjoyment of their beauty somehow stole something from the other man.

If Dan was even a man. Was he? If not, then what? His enjoyment of the bright colors faded entirely as he brooded. He still could not understand how or why he had appeared in Phil’s bedroom with no memories before that moment. He knew something was wrong there—something very wrong—but he didn’t understand what. It left him feeling as if **he** were the one who was wrong.

Except, to be honest, that wasn’t a new feeling. It had been there since the beginning.

He looked at the stained glass itself, the framed religious designs from the original monastery reaching nearly floor to ceiling, and regarded the avenging angel depicted in the nearest window.

Would an angel smite him down, or avenge him? Was Dan himself something to be defended or destroyed? The impassive expression on the angel’s face gave him no hints.

That night, his heart aching with confusion and his stomach aching with hunger, he ate the last biscuit and threw the packaging into the bin before retiring to his corner of the bedroom again. For the first time, he noticed that the radiator did not reach this part of the flat as well as it heated the rest, so he lay in perhaps the coldest area possible. The lights were off, with only the dimness of the street lights through stained glass illuminating the bedroom in muted reds and greens and blues.

Dan lay on the floor and gazed longingly at Phil’s bed. It looked so soft. So soft and so warm.

Surely Phil would never know if he greedily stole a bit of that warmth for himself. Just for a few moments. Just for the comfort to balance the gnawing of his empty belly. He would give himself perhaps five minutes. Just long enough to get truly warm, so that he could take that warmth back with him to his chilly corner.

Glancing around as if Phil might suddenly appear without warning, Dan sidled toward the bed and ran a hand over the downy duvet. It was soft. Very carefully, hoping to leave no evidence of his trespass, Dan slid between the sheets, pulling the divinely cozy duvet up to his chin, letting his head rest on the pillow that held a faint scent. He recognized the smells of the shampoo and soaps from Phil’s bathroom, but there were subtle other scents there as well. He’d never been near enough to Phil to notice a particular smell to him, but now he knew that this scent on the pillow must be the smell of Phil’s skin and hair.

Dan rested his cheek against the pillow, clutching the soft sheets and duvet close, seeing the dim colors from the windows lambent all around him, and felt a deep sense of contentment like none he’d ever previously experienced. Not that he could remember, anyway. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, just to bask in the comfort and happiness of that wonderful feeling … and without even realizing it slipped almost immediately into a deep, restful sleep with shining dreams of a loving, gentle, happy Phil lying there beside him.

* * *

“What are you doing in my bed?” The shout woke Dan so abruptly that he nearly flew out of the bedclothes, landing in a blinking, confused heap of limbs on the floor beside the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered immediately, still not nearly awake. “I’m sorry. I was just so cold. And I was hungry. And I was … the bed looked so warm and so soft … I’m so sorry!” Tears sprang to his eyes and he wiped at them in frustration. How could he have been so stupid as to fall asleep in Phil’s own bed? Surely Phil would make him leave now. And he didn’t even have his shoes on. Would Phil give him time to at least put his shoes on?

But Phil’s expression looked troubled. “Hungry?” he repeated in confusion, and then he glanced toward the kitchen.

Dan shrugged uncomfortably, still sitting in an awkward pile on the floor beside the bed, afraid to move.

Phil abruptly slapped a hand to his forehead and shook his head in obvious disgust, then looked toward Dan with the gentlest, saddest expression Dan had ever seen on his face. “I didn’t leave you any food, did I? You must be starving!”

Dan looked down at the floor, overwhelmed by that look on Phil’s face. “There were … there were some biscuits … in the cabinet…” he mumbled, shrugging again.

Phil walked toward him and Dan instinctively raised a hand as if to ward off a blow, but Phil only grasped the raised hand and pulled Dan to his feet. “What do you want me to order? Chinese? Thai? Indian? Pizza?” And he smiled at Dan. A real smile, full of warmth and apology. Had he forgotten that he’d caught Dan in his bed?

Dan felt himself blushing in response to the compassion in that look, perhaps even affection? No, obviously not affection. His fantasies from the previous night were obviously tainting his perceptions. Phil would never feel affection for **him**. Never. Phil had made that more than clear. Dan wasn’t even a real person. Phil could never care about him.

But the smile he gave Dan now made Dan feel like maybe he was glowing from the inside, glowing like the light from the stained glass windows, and Phil would be able to see it, and so he blushed even harder.

“Um…” he began, but didn’t know where to go from there. “Um … whatever you want.” Dan looked at the floor, not able to bear that expression on Phil’s face anymore.

But Phil had not released his hand, and now he gave it a squeeze. “You’re the one who’s been starving for two days. You definitely get to choose!” There was a bit of laughter in his voice, but not laughter at Dan. It sounded like the best sound Dan had ever heard.

And then Dan realized, and his heart sank like a stone within his suddenly ice cold body.

This must be what it felt like to love someone.

He’d understood the concept of love, of course, but he’d never thought he might actually feel it himself. And now he **did** feel it, but for someone who abhorred him, someone who only tolerated his presence out of some unwilling sense of obligation. Someone who considered him less than human.

Yes, he’d understood the concept of love, of course—all those couples he’d seen kissing in the streets—but he’d also understood that no one would ever feel it for **him**. Least of all someone like Phil.

He felt his lip begin to tremble, and then his whole chin. He jerked his hand out of Phil’s and raised his hands to cover his face, afraid of what might show there. He couldn’t bear the humiliation.

“Okay, okay,” Phil said gently. “I’ll choose. You like pizza, right? Pepperoni? Would that be okay?”

He was obviously waiting for a response, so Dan just nodded from behind his hands, then heard Phil make a phone call to order the food.

* * *

Dan was desperately grateful that Phil had ordered more than one pizza, because Dan himself ate one in its entirety before he even began to slow down enough to taste it.

“I’m sorry,” Phil told him earnestly when Dan had begun to take the time to actually chew his bites of food and was no longer simply bolting down slices of pizza as quickly as his body could manage.

Dan glanced nervously at Phil’s face, and Phil really did look regretful. Maybe even guilty. That didn’t seem right. Phil was always happy, wasn’t he?

“Please don’t feel bad,” Dan urged after swallowing the mouthful he had been chewing. He wiped his mouth with the paper towel Phil had given him. “It’s just me.” And he shrugged again, dismissively. He knew he didn’t matter.

But Phil shook his head. “It isn’t just you,” he mused, looking vaguely away from Dan as if deep in thought. “It’s also … my brother is upset with me, too.”

Dan managed to contain his shock that Phil actually wanted to engage him in conversation, then realized that Phil was actually probably talking to himself more than to Dan. He was just thinking aloud.

But then Phil looked directly at Dan and said, “My brother asked me to come home because he’d been fighting with our parents. They’d found out he was practicing piano at a friend’s house when he told them he was studying.”

Dan looked confused, then dared to ask hesitantly, “What’s wrong with practicing the piano?”

Phil sighed. “I wish my parents could understand, but Martyn isn’t interested in academics. He’s been dreaming about applying to the RNCM since he was 13.” Phil took a bite of pizza and chewed.

Dan took a bit of pizza and chewed as well. His stomach no longer felt like it had been turned inside out, but he still felt a little hungry. After a while, he noticed that Phil hadn’t said anything more. Gathering up his courage, Dan asked tentatively, “You said your brother is upset with you, though.”

Phil swallowed his pizza, wiped his hands, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He typed for a minute then handed the phone over to Dan, who quickly wiped his own hands before taking it. He read the text conversation between Phil and Martyn.

“What does he mean when he says he wanted you to stand up for him?” Dan asked, feeling a little braver now, like they were having an actual conversation. Like Phil wasn’t going to kick him out of the flat for asking a simple question. Like Dan was an actual person Phil might have an actual conversation with.

Phil shook his head and said, “I don’t know. I mean, I got there, and everybody was yelling, and I tried to get it all calmed down, you know? I just wanted everybody to be happy.”

“But it sounds like Martyn isn’t happy,” Dan objected, then almost bit his tongue. It was one thing for Phil to talk to him, quite another for Dan to actual challenge him about something.

But Phil just nodded, looking a little perplexed. “He isn’t. I don’t know what he expected from me.”

Dan watched Phil’s face. He honestly didn’t seem to understand what was going on, but Dan was starting to get an inkling. “So your parents found out that your brother was playing piano instead of studying, and they got mad at him?” Phil nodded. “And he texted you to come help him out?” Phil nodded again.

Could Phil really be this dim? Dan could imagine himself in Phil’s brother’s position so easily.

“So Martyn’s a kid, and his parents are yelling at him for doing the thing he loves, and he calls his older brother in for back-up. But you didn’t stand up for him? You didn’t explain to your parents that he should be allowed to do what he loves and do the piano instead of academics? You just … what did you do?”

Phil looked abashed now, and more than a little confused. “I told everybody to calm down. I spent time with Martyn and listened to him talk, and I told him I support him. And I listened to my parents and told them I understand why they’re frustrated.” He frowned. “I just tried to understand everyone’s perspective. I just wanted peace, you know?”

Dan scowled, starting to get a little angry at Phil now. He was seeing this all from Martyn’s perspective, and he was feeling like Phil had really let him down. Didn’t he even see it? What kind of moron was he? Poor Martyn, having to fight his parents alone!

Dan slapped a hand down on his knee and growled, “It didn’t occur to you to defend your little brother? To stand up for his right to do what he wants? You didn’t explain it to your parents and defend him?” Dan was feeling really angry now.

“Fighting wouldn’t help anybody,” Phil insisted. “It never does. It’s better to just calm everybody down and keep the peace.” He wiped his mouth and hands and stood up. “I’m not hungry anymore, so I’m going to get some work done. Eat as much as you want.” And he just walked away to sit on the stool at his lab counter, where he started writing in the notebook he always seemed to be scribbling in.

Dan was fuming. He wanted to go punch Phil’s parents in their smug faces. He maybe even wanted to punch Phil in his uncomprehending face, because he should have stood up for his little brother! Instead, he’d left him defenseless against parents who didn’t respect or understand him. Okay, maybe Dan was taking this a little too personally, but he actually **hurt**! He hurt for poor Martyn left alone in that house while Phil just blithely took the train back to York.

Now seemed like an excellent time for a game of Fortnite, even though Phil was there and so Dan usually would go hide in the bedroom corner. Right now he needed to vent, and yelling at Phil seemed like a terrible possibility, so he chose ranting at video game characters instead.

He hadn’t been playing long when he encountered his first real battle, but it didn’t take him as long to get angry as usual, since he’d started the game already riled up. When he found himself surrounded, almost out of ammunition, he knew it wasn’t entirely the video game characters he hated when he screamed at the screen, “You rotten fucking cock badgers!”

Dan heard a gasp from the kitchen and looked to where Phil stood holding his notebook, his eyes wide, staring at Dan. “But that’s … what I said…” Phil mumbled, frowning, then glanced down at his notebook, flipped back through the pages to some earlier entry and seemed to be rereading. He looked back up at Dan, then back down again at the notebook.

And then Phil said quietly, face slack with disbelief, “This can’t … this can’t be … oh my god!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did Phil realize at the end of the chapter? The next chapter will make it more clear if you haven't been able to guess already.
> 
> I’m due to post the first chapter of my other Phandom Reverse Bang fic, “The Body Electric,” on Saturday (the 19th, which is only a few days from now), so after that I’ll be working on both fics simultaneously. That will complicate things, of course, but I plan to finish this one regardless of the level of interest, since I refuse to let down my artist or the prb itself, since I made a commitment to them.


	5. Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil realizes the terrible truth about his potion's effects

Phil was feeling a bit out of sorts after their conversation about Martyn. He couldn’t help feeling that maybe he’d done something wrong there, that he’d let his brother down somehow. Don’s comments had left him unsettled, so he turned to what always calmed him: science. He began to document the most recent effects of the experiment.

As he worked at his lab counter, he vaguely noted Don’s highly vocal reactions to the video game he was playing on the sofa. It seemed odd, as Don usually fled silently to the bedroom when Phil was in the flat, but Phil thought little of it until he heard Don scream angrily, “You rotten fucking cock badgers!”

Phil gasped, his pen sliding off the page, and he stared in shock at Don. “But that’s … what I said…” he mumbled, frowning, remembering when he had said those exact same words several days ago. It wasn’t a common oath, not something Don would likely say by chance, and not something Phil remembered ever saying in his presence. But how could Don know those exact words unless he was … Phil flipped through the pages of his notebook, back to the start of the experiment, to the morning Don arrived, through various pages as if they might provide the answer … but the only possible answers seemed utterly absurd. He looked back up at Don, then back down again at the notebook.

And then, feeling as if he might actually faint, Phil murmured in absolute shock, “This can’t … this can’t be … oh my god!”

* * *

**[excerpt from Philip Lester’s notebook of experimental observations]  
** **19/02/18  
** **13:15 -** Positive emotional effects continue, but subject has perceived a possible flaw in the goal of the experiment which requires further thought. Perhaps emotions previously identified as “negative,” such as guilt serve a useful **[ink abruptly extends off the edge of the paper as if the writer were caught by surprise and jerked his hand away]  
****13:30 -** New data suggests that the outcome of this experiment may be very different than expected or intended. The creature that appeared the morning after subject’s ingestion of the potion now appears to perhaps be a vivid hallucination or other unintended effect of the chemical formula. While the potion did in fact heighten the subject’s positive emotions, this other creature appeared at the same time and displayed only negative emotions: fear, anger, self-loathing, sorrow, etc. I reluctantly hypothesize that all of the negative emotions reduced or eradicated in the subject have in fact been embodied in this new creature, though I cannot explain the scientific process through which this might be possible. Perhaps, however, it would explain how and why ~~Don~~ the creature appeared in the flat with no apparent mode of entry at that particular time. It seems impossible, but my current hypothesis is that the negative emotions eradicated from the subject resulted in the creation of a body to contain and exhibit those emotions. It should not have been possible for the potion to have this effect, but evidence thus far supports the theory. Further investigation is obviously required, but clearly the potion should not be administered to any other subjects until this issue is better understood and resolved.

* * *

When Phil looked up from scribbling these surely **impossible** ideas into the notebook, he saw Don staring at him. How long had Don been staring? His face looked puzzled … puzzled and vulnerable. “What is it?” Don asked. “What … you looked at me … and you seemed … you looked … horrified … and then you started writing. I knew you didn’t want me here, that you wished I’d go … but you never looked at me like … like **that**.” Tears appeared in his eyes again.

Phil’s earlier annoyance and more recent shock both softened into concern, and he went to sit beside Don, resting a gentle hand on his warm shoulder. “It’s okay, Don. I just … when you got so angry … when you yelled at the game … it reminded me of something. Something…” He looked at Don’s brown eyes, which were now gazing at him with trust and questions, shining in the light coming through the window, and his heart actually hurt for the other creature, whether he was a man or not. “It’s not important right now.” He patted Don’s shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort.

Don looked down, his hands clenching together in his lap, and muttered almost inaudibly, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I got so angry. Please don’t make me leave. Please? Please?” He looked up to meet Phil’s gaze again, and the unshed tears made his eyes shine even more brightly, like gems in the sunlight.

Phil shook his head, promising spontaneously, “I’m not going to make you leave.” Don smiled, his lips trembling slightly, then his chin, and a complete breakdown seemed imminent, so Phil quickly attempted to distract him. “Why were you so angry in the first place?

Don shook his head, quickly hiding his face in his hands, and Phil heard a sob. Apparently his attempt to prevent this had not been successful. “I can’t … I can’t believe…” Don’s voice was muffled by his hands, but then he cleared his throat, dashing the tears away again with his hands. His voice was a bit stronger when he said, “I can’t believe you didn’t stand up for your brother. I can’t believe you just left him there with your parents like that.”

Phil blinked in extreme confusion. “You yelled at a video game because I left Rawtenstall? That makes no sense whatsoever.”

Gesturing helplessly with one hand, Don explained, “I was just … upset because of our conversation about Martyn. And then I was ambushed…”

Phil nodded in understanding. “Yes, well, Martyn will grow up and become more responsible in time.” He smiled tolerantly. “We’re most of us like that in our youth, I suppose.” And then he glanced at Don. Had Don ever been a youth? Or was he just a … creation? A side effect of the potion? How could that even be possible? Surely it couldn’t. Don was clearly a person, not a hallucination or… But Don was speaking again.

“Martyn needed your help. He **asked** for your help!”

Phil sighed, thinking of Martyn’s dilemma and how much he wished he could resolve the situation for his younger brother. “Martyn has always been … more creative then academic. Our parents always urged him to be more like me: devoted to my school subjects, hard working…”

“But does he work hard at the piano?” Don asked immediately.

Phil blinked. “Well, yes, I suppose so. Apparently more than our parents would prefer, since he was caught practicing at a friend’s home this week. If only Martyn could be more obedient and comply with our parents’ wishes…”

“Obedient?” Don spat. Tears still shone on his cheeks but he now looked angry again. “Comply? Is that what you do? Just be whatever your parents want you to be? That’s what you think Martyn should do? Give up all his creativity? You enjoy science—he enjoys the piano. You should both get to follow your own dreams.”

Don’s words brought Phil up short. He realized that he and Martyn both expressed their creativity in different ways. Confusion roiled through him, but the predominant feelings were gratitude and affection toward Don for stepping forward as Martyn’s champion. Don really cared about Martyn, even though he’d never met Phil’s little brother. Phil’s affection grew stronger, and he smiled gently at the other man. (Was he even a man? Phil didn’t think so. The experimental data seemed to indicate he…) Don took Phil’s hand, and Phil noticed his fingers were wet with tears. Tears he’d shed out of sympathy for Martyn. Tears he’d shed because of Phil. He squeezed Don’s hand gently and tried to explain.

“Yes, I do wish Martyn could follow his dreams. But when he makes things so difficult for our parents, they only make his own life harder in turn. I always tried to avoid causing them such problems…”

And before he’d even finished the sentence, it dawned on Phil that in his own youth he’d actually even daydreamed once or twice about being able to just get rid of those difficult feelings, to be able to be everything his parents wanted without having to struggle at it. He did occasionally let them down, after all—crying when other boys at school had bullied him, getting angry when his parents seemed unfair—and they had always been so disappointed in him, always looked so sad, and he’d always felt so guilty. He’d wished that he could always be good and never put that mournful look on their faces.

He looked at Don suddenly. Was it true that Phil had somehow done this? Had his chemical formula somehow allowed him to split off from all of the emotions he didn’t want, and put them all into Don? Was that why Don was always so sad and angry, so volatile? Was that why Phil had felt so content, so peaceful, so happy since he’d drunk the potion? Because he’d **done** this to Don?

Had Don been **right** when he’d accused Phil of doing this to him? Were the speculative words Phil had written in his notebook true?

Had Phil actually **created** Don out of his own unhappiness? Was this all Phi’s fault after all?

Phil looked down at his hand, still damp with Don’s tears.

He stood up so quickly that his head swam. Or maybe that was because of all the inconceivable, impossible thoughts racing through his brain. “I have to … I’ve got a class,” he lied. “I have to go.”

Still sitting on the sofa, Don looked up at him, resignation and defeat clear on his features, then looked down at his hands where they lay in his lap … no doubt still covered in even more tears than Phil’s hand had been.

Phil shoved the thought out of his mind and grabbed his bag, throwing his notebook and papers into it, then said a quick goodbye without looking at Don again and fled the apartment.

* * *

**[excerpt from Philip Lester’s notebook of experimental observations]  
** **19/02/18  
****15:23 -** Experimental results unclear. ~~In addition to the question of~~ Though negative emotions initially seemed to have been eradicated, some small elements seem to be returning as days go by. Subject has experienced momentary flashes of guilt and sadness, for example. It is unclear whether this shift will continue to progress over time, so further observation is required. ~~Don~~ The creature does indeed appear to be the embodiment of the subject’s negative emotions, and so current hypothesis indicates that proximity has caused a slow decline in the potion’s effectiveness. ~~Don~~ ~~The creature~~ Don, too, appears to be changing, exhibiting some positive emotions among the negative. Does continued proximity affect both subject and the creation? If we were to separate permanently, would the emotional effectiveness of the potion also remain permanent? Would such a result be desirable? Perhaps this experiment should not be repeated with additional test subjects.

* * *

Phil returned to the flat hours later, long past supper time, but he brought Thai green curry for Don, as he knew it was his favorite. A sort of peace offering. Or apology. He had no idea what he would say to the other man … or **creature** , his unintentional creation … the person to whom he had done so much wrong, caused so much pain. It now appeared that—just as Don had insisted from the beginning—it was, indeed, all Phil’s fault.

Phil tossed his bag on the sofa and called Don’s name, but received no reply. After setting the food down on the coffee table, Phil searched the flat and found Don curled up under his blanket in the corner of the bedroom. Thinking that perhaps he slept, Phil touched his shoulder gently and whispered his name. “Don,” he said softly. “Don, I’ve brought you food.”

After a long pause, Phil heard in the darkness, “My name isn’t Don.” The quiet voice sounded like a monotone, with no inflection at all. “My name is Dan.” The stoic voice wavered, and pure lonely misery soaked the words when he said so softly that Phil almost couldn’t hear him, “You just weren’t listening. You were never listening. Not to Martyn, and not to me.”

Phil frowned, trying to see Don … **Dan** in the shadowy corner, but unable to perceive more than just light glinting off his eyes and perhaps the outline of his body under the blanket. “But…” Phil floundered for what to say, feeling confused and a bit defensive. “But you never said!”

Dan sat up, and Phil could see him a bit better, though he was still shrouded in shadows in that most hidden corner of the flat. “You didn’t even want me here,” Dan reminded him, his voice thick with what Phil could only presume were unshed tears. Or perhaps Dan’s face was wet with them, as his hands had been earlier. So many tears, all of them Phil’s fault. Phil wished he could see him, wished he could know if Dan had been crying, even if he didn’t know what to do about it. “You just wanted me to leave,” Dan continued blankly, “so why would you care about my name?”

Phil reached out for where he thought Dan’s face was, hoping not to accidentally poke him in the eye, and instead found his cheek, which was indeed wet. His heart twisted in his chest, aching for all the pain Dan must have felt since appearing in that corner days before, after Phil had drunk that damnable potion.

Acting on instinct, Phil let his hand stroke down from Dan’s cheek to his neck, down his shoulder, then down his arm to grasp his hand and squeeze it again as he had earlier in the day.

“Come with me?” Phil asked gently, and gave the slightest pull on Dan’s hand. Dan took the hint and stood, but Phil did not let go immediately. Instead, he led Dan to the bed and pulled back the duvet. He crawled fully dressed into the bed, scooting far to the other side, and patted the mattress beside him. “Dan? Will you sleep here with me? Where it’s soft and warm and comfortable? Instead of on the floor?”

Dan, with muted shades of red and blue and yellow glinting on his tear-soaked cheeks, nodded his head with a slight jerk and climbed hesitantly into the bed. Phil remembered that very morning, only a few hours ago, when he had found Dan sleeping here, enjoying the comfort which Phil had immediately stripped away. He remembered Dan crumpled on the floor after Phil had shouted at him. He remembered Dan huddled there apologizing over and over for daring to want just a bit of peace and warmth.

Still acting on instinct, Phil reached out and very slowly, giving Dan every chance to pull away if he wanted to, he pulled Dan into his arms. Dan let out a sudden sob and collapsed into Phil’s embrace. Phil held him tighter and stroked a hand through his hair.

“Dan,” he said softly into the dimly multi-colored shadows, “I care. I do. I promise. I care, Dan.”

And he forgot about the Thai green curry on the coffee table in the lounge, forgot that this wasn’t really a time he would usually go to sleep … forgot any scientific theories about who or what Dan might be … and instead he just focused on the man weeping in his arms under the warm blankets, weeping as if his heart was breaking … or had been broken from the very start.


	6. Unwanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan discovers the horrifying truth about his origins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd planned to wait to post this chapter in like a week and a half, but I've been working a lot on Chapter 7 and decided since this one was already done I'd go ahead and post it now.
> 
> Many thanks again to the wonderful [@ribenaflip](https://ribenaflip.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, who came up with the initial story idea, helped keep me sane through many trials and tribulations, and also created beautiful art to accompany this chapter, which you can see **[HERE](https://ribenaflip.tumblr.com/post/174480317802/hide-not-your-face-oh-creature-of-darkness-and)**.

Dan woke slowly, opening his eyes to near darkness and the feeling of a cushioned mattress beneath his aching body, soft bedding against his skin, and—best of all—warm arms enfolding him, holding him close to an equally warm body. He dared to snuggle closer into the embrace and Phil made a small, happy sound in his sleep.

_This is what it is to feel loved,_ he thought to himself. And the thought jolted him, because he knew it could only be wishful thinking. Phil had been astonishingly kind to allow him to sleep in the bed, to comfort him, but Phil’s kindness was not the same thing as love.

Ashamed of his own presumption, Dan eased himself out of Phil’s arms, not wanting to wake him, and Phil simply rolled over and pulled the duvet up, giving out a small, snuffling snore. He clearly still slept. They’d gotten into the bed quite early in the evening, but Dan had no idea how much time had passed. It felt like the middle of the night.

He left the bedroom as quietly as possible, venturing into the lounge where he found some plastic containers of unappetizingly congealed green curry sitting on the coffee table. Grimacing, he considered binning them, but they belonged to Phil, so he didn’t want to make any assumptions and perhaps offend his … his … friend?

Was Phil perhaps becoming his friend? He’d so gently and kindly welcomed Dan into the warmth of his bed a few hours ago, comforting him when Dan had been upset. Didn’t this show care?

Did Phil care about him? Even a few days ago, the concept would have seemed ludicrous, but Dan now reflected on some of Phil’s soft smiles and wondered. The possibility made his heart beat faster and his breath feel a little tight in his chest.

Phil’s bookbag had fallen off the sofa as if placed there carelessly, and the contents had spilled onto the floor. Dan hesitated. Should he leave Phil’s things, as he had done with the curry, or should he tidy them a bit? A thick notebook had fallen open, its pages crumpled as it lay, and many loose papers were folded and crushed beneath. Dan knew how important these papers were to Phil, as he’d seen Phil pore over them for hours every day, so he decided to pick them up and tidy them just enough so that the papers were no longer crushed or folded, just forming a pile that would keep the papers flat and safe.

As he picked up the notebook, however, he saw his own name written on the page. Well, it said “Don,” rather than “Dan,” but he still wondered if Phil had written something about him. The last entry in the notebook—dated today!—made little sense, but Dan was struck by the fact that Phil had written “Don,” then crossed it out, then written “the creature” afterward. Was that how Phil truly saw him? As a creature? Not a person, but a **creature**? Still? And what did he mean when he wrote “the embodiment of the subject’s negative emotions”? It made no sense whatsoever.

Hoping to better understand, Dan decided to read the entry above it, also dated today but only a couple hours earlier. There was no clock in the flat, and Dan wore no wristwatch, so he could only guess when 13:20 must have been. He remembered the moment when he had shouted at the video game and Phil had frozen in apparent shock, staring at him. Had Phil written this then?

Dan read the entry through once, and his entire body went cold. Then he read it a second time, more slowly. He paged back, read some earlier entries, then came back to those last two. He noted the repeated references to “the creature” again, which Dan now felt certain referred to himself. This was how Phil thought of him, as “the creature.” And Phil was documenting the creature’s behavior in this notebook.

Particular phrases stood out to him, such as when Phil referred to him—Dan, himself—as “a vivid hallucination or other unintended effect of the chemical formula.” He saw Dan as “an effect”? Not even a “creature”?

The worst, though, was in one of the entries near the end, when Phil wrote what he really thought of Dan. “It seems impossible, but my current hypothesis is that the negative emotions eradicated from the subject resulted in the creation of a body to contain and exhibit those emotions.”

“The creation of a body…”

A body.

Dan.

The “creature.”

Dan had felt something wrong from the very beginning, had felt instinctively that Phil had done something to him, something that made him feel this terrible pain and suffering. From that first moment he remembered in the corner of Phil’s bedroom, he had somehow **known** that Phil had done this. And now here he had found proof.

Phil had run some kind of experiment, and Dan … Dan was some kind of unintended, unwanted side effect. Dan was “the creature.” Some kind of container Phil had created to fill with all the things he didn’t want.

Dan suddenly remembered the crazy woman, Clara, Henry’s friend … all the things she had said about him that first day. She’d been right, he realized. She’d somehow seen the truth about him. He wasn’t a person. He wasn’t anything, really. Nothing except a creature, a side effect, the physical manifestation of everything Phil did not want.

Letting the notebook fall from numb fingers, Dan stumbled toward the door. He had to leave. He didn’t know what he would do, where he would go, but he couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t face Phil again, knowing now what he truly was, what Phil truly thought of him.

As he opened the door, Dan remembered thinking, only a few minutes previous, that Phil was perhaps now his friend. That Phil cared for him. He laughed, though his own ears could hear the lack of humor in the sound. Quite the opposite. It sounded like something dying.

As he walked through the door and closed it behind him, he remembered his own tender feelings, his realization that he felt actual **love** for Phil, and he laughed again on a sob, the sound echoing in the stairway. A **creature** couldn’t feel love. A chemical experiment couldn’t feel love. An unwanted side effect couldn’t feel love. An empty box filled with everything loathsome couldn’t feel love.

Dan couldn’t feel love. He was incapable of it. He was just a bunch of negative emotions shoved into a body Phil had created. How could a bundle of negative emotions feel something as positive as love?

He crashed clumsily through the wooden front door and out onto the pavement in front of Phil’s apartment building, the stone walls now behind him like a fortress protecting Phil from Dan and all that Dan stood for, all that Dan was, all that Phil had made him.

Dan had wondered, that first day on the streets alone, whether he was evil. Now he knew he wasn’t even that significant. He was just unwanted. Unwanted and unreal.

As he began to walk, he realized that he had neglected to put on his shoes before bolting from Phil’s flat. He’d once again left without shoes. At least this time he wore socks to protect his feet from the cold. Because the air felt even colder against his skin than it had last time.

He wondered if that was because it was now night instead of day, or if it was simply because this time he knew the truth.

* * *

He didn’t know how long he walked in the dark. The street lamps turned off when the sky lightened with the sunrise, and Dan wondered if he might somehow find Henry. Henry had been kind to him, had even protected him from Clara’s terrible, terrible truths. Perhaps Henry could help him somehow? Or he could try to find this “Saint Mary’s” that Henry had recommended to him, the place with the soup? Perhaps they could help him there?

But how could **anyone** help him?

He didn’t belong in this world. He didn’t belong in any world. Nothing he thought or felt or did was real. He was just … words written in a notebook.

Phil’s notebook.

Phil.

Tears sprang to Dan’s eyes. How could he still call what he felt “love” when he knew he must not be capable of such a pure and true emotion? And yet his mind and heart still whispered, “I love this person. What I feel is love. I love Phil.” He remembered Phil gently drawing him into the warm bed, wrapping warm arms around him. He remembered waking up still held in those warm arms, Phil’s happy sigh.

He stopped walking and sank down to sit with his back against the nearby wall. He sat there for a long while, not even weeping, just blank and empty, staring into the distance. Without his coat and shoes, the air chilled him to the bone, but he didn’t feel it. How could he feel it? He wasn’t real.

Looking down, he saw the socks on his feet shredded to rags from all his walking. Those were Phil’s socks. _I ruined them,_ he thought, staring at them with no emotion. _I ruined them. I ruin everything. But I won’t ruin Phil._

And then he went back to staring into the distance. _I am a statue,_ he thought. _I am a statue of a person. A fake person. A thing that looks like a person but is not._ He wondered for a moment how a person who is not a person, how a creature who is only words on paper, how a thing that is merely a side effect … if there was a way for that disgusting thing to cease to be. He noticed in a vague sort of way that the buses on this road drove quite fast. All those early morning commuters, on their way to jobs, because they were real people, people with lives and loves and…

His vision blurred and he blinked quickly.

Those buses really did come past quite often. And they really did drive quite fast. It would be so easy to step into the road at the right moment…

What would happen to Phil’s experiment then? What would happen if his side effect was gone? And would there even be a body, or would Dan just disappear, since he didn’t really exist in the first place? He imagined the puzzled witnesses, running forward in horror to find no body in front of the bus.

No body.

Nobody.

Because that’s who Dan was. Nobody.

A body … but nobody.

* * *

Dan woke to the feeling of someone shaking him. Well, “woke” may not be the appropriate term, as he had not precisely fallen asleep—he had simply ceased caring. Ceased seeing or listening or feeling or being.

He’d just … ceased.

It was surprisingly peaceful.

And it hadn’t even required the help of a fast-moving bus.

He started it again—started to cease, ironic as that sounds—when he felt himself shaken again, quite forcibly this time.

And then he got slapped across the face.

“Oh god! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you! Dan!” The voice sounded panicked, and painfully familiar. The familiarity of the voice was far more painful than the slap had been.

“Phil,” Dan murmured, and brought his vision into focus. And there was Phil, kneeling in front of him on the pavement with his hair looking like a dark bird’s nest and a thin bathrobe thrown over his clothes instead of a coat, his mouth a grotesque grimace of distress. Dan looked away.

“Dan!” Phil said the name again, like it meant something, even though it didn’t. Dan knew that now. But Phil kept talking. “I woke up and you weren’t there, and I had no idea where you could have gone, because you haven’t left the flat since that first day, at least I don’t think you have, and I just … I panicked!”

Dan touched Phil’s bathrobe and asked absently, “What are you wearing?”

Phil glanced down at himself and laughed. “God, I just threw on the first thing I saw. I was so worried. And you must be freezing! Oh, Dan, your feet! Here, at least put this on while we get you inside.” And he took off the bathrobe and wrapped it around Dan’s shoulders, trying to pull Dan to standing.

But Dan sat heavy and still as a stone … as a statue. Phil fussed with the bathrobe around him, but Dan was unmoving. He blinked slowly. Eventually, Phil’s words registered, and Dan asked, “Inside where?” but he didn’t look around. He didn’t care enough to look around.

Phil’s voice sounded confused when he stammered, “Um … inside the flat, Dan.” A long silence ensued. “Based on the state of those socks,” Phil said quietly, “I’m assuming you went for quite a walk last night, but I’m glad you came back.”

That actually caught Dan’s attention. He looked up into Phil’s face and asked, “Came back?” And then he looked around him.

The wall he’d rested against since he just gave up, since his heart and mind and body had simply stopped working and he’d collapsed sometime that morning, probably hours ago … it was the same stone wall of Phil’s apartment building that had grown strangely, uncomfortably familiar. How had he ended up back here?

It was like that first day, when Phil had forced him to leave. At the end of the day, Phil had found his way back without even understanding how.

But at least now he understood why. It was because he wasn’t a real person. He was just a sort of repository for the emotions that Phil didn’t want, so it made sense that he kept being drawn back to Phil. It wasn’t mysterious or romantic or magical. It was science. Phil had done some kind of chemical experiment upon himself, and Dan had been a side effect. He was attached to Phil in some way, some way that Phil would certainly destroy if he could.

So why was he saying he was glad Dan had come back? Dan woke up a little bit more at that thought, because this wasn’t making sense.

And then suddenly warm hands were holding his face on both sides, cradling his cheeks, while Phil’s pale eyes stared intently into Dan’s surprised gaze. “Your cheeks are so cold, Dan. And your feet … they look like they hurt. Will you come inside with me and let me take care of you? Please? Dan, I was so worried. Will you please come inside?”

The gentleness in Phil’s voice cracked Dan’s heart like an egg, and he found himself nodding and standing and his hand was in Phil’s and Phil was pulling him in through the large wooden door and up the wide stone stairs and none of this made any sense.

Not now that he knew.

* * *

When they got inside the flat, Phil bustled around, taking the bathrobe away and returning with a warm blanket, wrapping Dan inside it and practically pushing him onto the sofa. A few moments later, he returned with a pair of thick woolen socks which he offered to Dan. When Dan simply sat there, passive, Phil actually removed the remnants of the shredded socks from Dan’s feet and slipped the fresh woolen ones on.

A minute or two later, Phil presented him with a mug of tea and insisted, “Drink this! We need to warm you up. I think you might be in shock.”

Dan obediently sipped the tea, which burned the inside of his mouth. He wondered how he could feel a burn, how he could the warmth of the socks and the blanket, when he didn’t actually exist. He wondered why Phil was doing all this.

The notebook and papers still lay in an untidy pile on the floor, and Dan found himself staring at them as he continued taking small sips of the hot tea. Words ran through his mind. “Creature.” “Unintended effect.” “The creation of a body.” “Embodiment of the subject’s negative emotions.” He closed his eyes and wished he was anywhere but here as he felt the grief and hurt begin to build in him again. It had been better when he was numb, when he wasn’t thinking. When he was able to forget. Now, being here, Phil was making him remember. Remember everything.

And it hurt. It hurt so much.

He felt a single tear sliding down his cheek, but kept his eyes closed. He didn’t want Phil to see.

“Are you hungry?” Phil asked solicitously. “I could … um … I could order soup! Won ton soup? Or hot and sour? Or … um … you like Thai so … maybe tom yum gai?”

Dan shook his head, even though he couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten. He didn’t even feel hungry. He felt only pain. It pierced through his mind and body like a spear. How could he hurt this much without even existing? Even with his eyes still closed, he could feel tears streaming down his face now.

“Dan?” Phil’s voice was close, quiet, concerned. “Dan, tell me what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong?” Dan choked out in disbelief. He opened his eyes to look at Phil’s face. “What’s **WRONG**?” He laughed, a sound filled with a thousand different painful emotions. And that made sense, didn’t it? Because that’s what he was … just a repository of painful emotions. “ **I’m** wrong, Phil. **I’m** wrong, right? Wrong from the very beginning. No wonder you always just wanted me to leave. No wonder you just ignored me and … and … barely tolerated me!”

Dan was shouting now, and he leapt off the sofa, letting the blanket fall to the floor among the papers. Those papers. Those papers that had finally made everything clear to him.

Phil’s face was chalk white now, and his eyes followed Dan’s gaze to the papers on the floor. “Dan…” he began, but Dan wasn’t listening.

“And me! I was so pathetic! Just wanting to be near you, because you were like this beacon of light. Just being near you made me feel better. But you **made** yourself that beacon of light, didn’t you? Made yourself that beacon of light by putting all the darkness into **me**!”

Dan threw the mug in his hand so that it shattered against the far wall, sending tea and pottery shards flying. “You did this to me!” he wailed. “You **did** this to me!” He paced the room now, emotion coiling in him, shooting through him, aching to be released somehow.

“And fuck! I actually thought I loved you! I thought I **loved** you! Love!” Dan shook his head and laughed another bitter, painful laugh. “But I can’t love, can I? I can’t love, because I’m just a … just a … a ‘body’ to hold all those nasty emotions you don’t want! I’m just … I’m nothing, really! Right? I’m nothing, just…” He shook his head, unable even to find words for how he was feeling.

At some point Phil had sat down right in the middle of the floor, tears now on his own face, but Dan didn’t care. Dan didn’t care at all. Because Phil had **done** this to him, done this to him **on purpose** , purposely **created** him to live a life that was nothing but pain.

“Do you think I **WANT** this?” he screamed at Phil. “Do you think I **WANT** to be this way? Do you think I **WANT** to feel all this … this hurt and this anger and this … all these terrible, horrible feelings? All these feelings you decided to get rid of? You **DID** this to me! You fucking **CREATED** me! And look at the life I’m stuck with now … because of **YOU**!” He picked up a heavy paperweight from the lab table and threw it as hard as he could at the stained glass window, and the glass in the window actually shattered. Not all of it, but the panes where the paperweight hit broke, and suddenly a bit of undiluted, untinted sunlight shone through.

“Because of you,” Dan repeated, all the rage suddenly draining out of him. He sank to the floor and covered his face with his hands, feeling the tears come again, feeling them flow across his cheeks and lips and chin and fingers as he moaned despondently, quietly into his own hands, “Because of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go! And the next one is mostly fluff to give you some relief from the pain I just put you through. :)


	7. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil realizes he's made a horrible mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My planned posting schedule has flown out the window, so I'm just posting when I can.

When he’d found Dan apparently catatonic in front of the apartment building, it had nearly frightened Phil to death. He’d eventually persuaded Dan to come inside, but in the flat he still seemed blank and unresponsive. He’d been gone for hours! Had something happened to him out there?

“Dan?” he asked gently. “Dan, tell me what’s wrong.”

And suddenly, out of nowhere, Dan seemed to just explode in waves of rage and pain, ranting and shouting … and gesturing to Phil’s experiment notes, which had fallen all over the floor. Phil blanched, realizing what Dan had seen and then imagining how he must have felt. Horror rushed through Phil—horror and guilt. He didn’t know what to say, knew there was nothing he **could** say to defend his actions, but he had to try. “Dan…” he began, but Dan wasn’t listening, continuing to rage against the injustice of what had been done to him.

And Phil had been the one to commit that injustice. It was only right that Dan berate him like this, that he rage against something so wrong. The stained glass avenging angel behind Dan as he shouted seemed to glare at Phil with grave disapproval. This was so much worse than anything he’d ever done to disappoint his parents. He had done something truly wrong, something ugly, when all he’d wanted was to bring more happiness to the world. Instead, he had… Overwhelmed with emotion, Phil sank slowly down until he was sitting on the floor, dazed with shame and the undeniable knowledge that nothing he did could ever make this right.

Suddenly a mug shattered against the far wall, making Phil flinch. He looked up at Dan, who yelled, “You did this to me!” as he paced the room like a caged beast. But in his heart Phil knew that Dan wasn’t a beast, wasn’t a “creature” … he was a **man**. Maybe even a friend. He was **Dan**.

And Dan was completely and totally right: Phil had done this to him. Phil let his head hang and tears sprang to his eyes. He’d seen Dan cry so often since that first morning, but this was the first time that Phil was the one to weep.

“And fuck! I actually thought I loved you!” Dan cried out, and Phil’s head jerked up. He could hear the agony in Dan’s voice as he wailed, “I thought I **loved** you!” Love? Dan … loved him? Phil’s mind reeled. He’d noticed the gentleness, the kindness, the empathy that had been growing in Dan. The way he’d stood up for Martyn, for example—the fierce caring he’d shown in support of Phil’s little brother. But love?

Dan … **loved** him?

It wasn’t that Phil considered him incapable … he just felt stunned by the sudden proclamation. One minute Dan was railing as if Phil was the devil himself, and now he said that he **loved** him?

An image, a feeling flashed through him. Dan’s warm body held tight in his arms in the soft bed, Dan’s hands holding Phil’s hands against his chest as his breathing slowed and they both drifted together into asleep. The moment had been precious.

But was that love?

“Do you think I **WANT** to feel all this … this hurt and this anger and this … all these terrible, horrible feelings?” Dan screamed, forcing Phil to look at him again through eyes blurred with tears that now wet not only his cheeks, tears that had streamed all the way down to soak the neck of his t-shirt.Dan elaborated, “All these feelings you decided to get rid of? You **DID** this to me! You fucking **CREATED** me! And look at the life I’m stuck with now … because of **YOU**!” Dan picked up the paperweight from Phil’s lab table and threw it, smashing the stained glass window, the avenging angel, so that a bit of undiluted, untinted sunlight shone through. Phil couldn’t help feeling that it was an apt metaphor. Dan shone true light on the situation, unfiltered through Phil’s plans and hopes and dreams. Dan showed Phil what he had truly done, and Phil felt only shame and horror at the pain of it. At Dan’s pain.

And then Dan’s rage seem to suddenly abandon him, and he dropped to the floor with his face in his hands.

Phil had predicated his experiment on the idea that life would be better without negative emotions, but he now saw that those emotions weren’t “negative” at all. Dan had been making that clear for days, but now it was painfully obvious, because Dan was **right** to be angry with Phil! Phil deserved everything Dan had said, and more, and he only wished someone had talked sense into him sooner. Perhaps then he never would have performed such a reckless, misguided experiment.

But if he hadn’t … would Dan not be here?

Dan now sobbed quietly into his hands, seeming completely oblivious to Phil’s continued presence. They both sat on the floor now, only a few feet apart, so Phil hesitantly crawled a bit closer to Dan. Would Dan allow it? Or would his rage flare again?

“Dan?” Phil hazarded. “Dan, you’re right. This is my fault. It’s all my fault. You have every right to be angry at me, even to hate me.”

Dan didn’t lift his face from his his hands, but at least he didn’t flee or leap to his feet in fury. His voice was so soft Phil had to strain to hear him, and so crept a bit closer. It sounded like Dan was saying something about … buses? But that couldn’t be right. Phil scooted even closer so that now his knee almost touched Dan’s, but Dan still had not looked up. He just continued to murmur a stream of quiet words, his face hidden in his trembling hands. “…just went blank,” Phil heard, and no emotion showed in Dan’s words now. “The buses run so fast, and I watched them, and I could just step into the road, but I don’t have to step into the road, because I can just go blank, inside my head, just stop, just disappear, and I would be gone, and I could take all the anger and the pain, and you’d be rid of me, rid of all those things you didn’t want, and then everything can be wonderful for you, you can have what you wanted, all sunshine and rainbows and fucking unicorns.” Dan sniffled and wiped at his face absently, as if confused about why his face was wet, as he no longer seemed to be upset, no longer showed any emotion at all, which scared Phil far more than the flying crockery and paperweights had done.

Finally, Dan glanced up and saw Phil sitting on the floor beside him. “But the bus would be okay, too,” he said in a flat, monotone voice. His brown eyes looked empty. “I could step in front of a bus, if I can’t just go into my head and disappear. And then you’ll have everything you want. And get rid of everything you don’t want.” Dan shrugged, face impassive with only perhaps the slightest trace of pain. “I don’t mind stepping in front of a bus for you if I have to.” And then he smiled, but the desolate smile made Phil want to vomit, made him want to throw **himself** in front of a bus for doing this to any other creature on earth.

Phil had wanted to be a good person—the entire purpose of his experiment—and here he saw the result. A beautiful, gentle, loving man … willing to die so Phil could live without all those feelings he’d found so inconvenient. Phil lunged, pulling Dan into his arms, but Dan held himself stiffly at first, only slowly melting into Phil’s embrace, eventually allowing his forehead to fall forward to rest on Phil’s shoulder.

“I don’t want you to go,” Phil whispered. “Please don’t.” Dan just shook his head without lifting it. “It isn’t all bad, not all pain and anger. Right? Some of it’s good.” No response from Dan, but he still rested quiescent in Phil’s arms, breaths hitching slightly. “Let me … let me show you? Don’t go, and just give me one day, okay? One day to show you that it isn’t all hurt. That you can have more than that. You can have happiness, too. I want that for you.” Still nothing. Phil dared to stroke a hand very lightly along Dan’s hair. “Give me a chance?” he asked. And finally Dan gave just the slightest nod. Phil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and hugged Dan a little tighter for a moment.

* * *

Phil found it difficult to persuade Dan to leave the flat with him. Apparently he’d only previously left the flat when forced, either by Phil or by panicked emotion. When calm, he insisted he would prefer to return to the corner of Phil’s bedroom. Or, he hazarded to suggest, as if it would be some great favor, they could play a video game together.

But Phil insisted that he wanted to take Dan out, wanted to show him the good things in the world, wanted to make him happy. Dan’s face looked extremely dubious.

“At least let me take you to buy a proper pair of shoes,” Phil begged. “I know those ones don’t fit you properly.”

Dan glanced at the shoes, then longingly at the door, then into Phil’s eyes. “What will happen to these shoes?”

Phil grimaced. Dan’s shoes looked a fright, old and worn and obviously ready for the bin. “We’ll just throw them out. Don’t worry about that.”

But Dan shook his head vigorously. “No! We can’t throw them out! People gave them to me, they were donated, and nice people gave them to me.” His voice faded until it was nearly a whisper. “I never even said thank you. They were so kind, giving me a coat and shoes, and I didn’t even thank them.”

Seeing an opportunity to persuade Dan to go out, Phil suggested, “We could take the shoes back to where you got them? So someone else who needs them will have a pair of shoes to wear?”

Dan nodded immediately and went to put on his coat—also much the worse for wear, but Phil knew to pick his battles and doubted he had enough money to buy Dan both a coat and shoes anyway—and moved toward the door. “Maybe Henry will be there,” Dan said wistfully.

Phil put on his own coat and they walked through the door together. Phil locked it behind them, asking Dan, “Who’s Henry?”

“He was kind to me,” Dan explained. “And I … I didn’t thank **him** , either. I treated him badly, but he stayed kind. I would really like to see him again, to thank him and let him know how much he helped me when I was so alone and lost.”

Guilt rushed through Phil again as he remembered forcing Dan out of the apartment that first morning, imagining Dan’s fear and confusion. “Let’s try to find Henry,” Phil agreed. “But first let’s buy you some new shoes so that you can donate these back where you got them, okay?”

* * *

When they got to the shopping centre, Phil insisted that he wanted to buy Dan a proper pair of shoes. A pair that not only fit, but that Dan liked, that made Dan happy. Dan had grown increasingly uncomfortable since they left the flat, and he now seemed terribly embarrassed, insisting that this wasn’t necessary, but Phil took his arm and bodily dragged him into a shoe store, where he encouraged Dan to look at the shoes and choose a pair he liked.

Dan refused to choose anything, but Phil noticed his eyes returning to a pair of leather sneakers more than once, and so Phil asked a salesperson to fetch a pair in Dan’s size. They measured Dan’s feet and left for the store room. While the salesperson was gone, Dan tugged on Phil’s shirt sleeve, saying desperately, “Phil. Phil. You don’t have to buy me anything. I don’t need them. It’s okay.”

Phil felt some mixture of emotions, looking at Dan in that moment. He felt some pity, surely, but he also felt sadness that Dan did not think himself worthy of such a small gift, and some gladness that he could provide Dan with something that he wanted, something that would make him more comfortable and perhaps even give him a bit of joy … if shoes could give someone joy.

The salesperson brought out the shoes and Dan hesitantly tried them on. They were styled like traditional black sneakers, but in leather with zips up the sides instead of laces in the front. Dan smiled, looking down at his feet, and Phil nearly clapped his hands with joy like a little kid, just seeing that expression on Dan’s face for the first time.

“Walk around in them,” Phil insisted. “See how they feel.”

Dan walked around the store, staring down at his feet with a look of wonder on his face. “We’ll take them,” Phil told the salesperson, and it was the happiest he’d ever felt from simply buying a pair of shoes. They were easily the most expensive pair of shoes he’d ever bought, but he didn’t care, because they put a light of wonder in Dan’s eyes, a light that Phil wanted to see every day. “And some pairs of black socks,” Phil added as Dan returned to his side.

“Socks, too?” Dan asked with disapproval, as if he couldn’t bear the largesse.

Phil put an arm around Dan and squeezed, smiling at him and saying, “You need good socks to wear with your shoes so you don’t get any more blisters.”

Dan just shook his head as if speechless the entire time Phil made the purchase and insisted that Dan take off the shoes just long enough to put on a pair of new socks beneath them. Then he insisted that Dan put the shoes back on and wear them out of the store.

They turned to walk along the pavement, and Dan said in a vague, stunned voice, “They have zips.”

Phil laughed and said, “They do. I’ve never seen trainers with zips before, but you found perhaps the only ones in existence. They look good on you.”

Dan glanced at him with wide eyes. “They do?”

Phil nodded firmly and replied, “They do.”

Dan gazed so fondly and fixedly at his new shoes as they walked that he occasionally bumped shoulders with passersby and once nearly walked into a street sign. Phil pulled him close by his side so that they walked arm-in-arm, guiding him so that he avoided any such collisions.

Some people on the street, especially older people, glanced at their entwined arms with disapproving eyes, and Dan began to shrink away, trying to pull his arm from Phil’s in obvious shame, but Phil would not let him go. “Who cares what anyone thinks?” he said firmly to Dan. “I don’t care, and you shouldn’t care either. We aren’t doing anything wrong, and if they want to be asses about it, that’s their problem.”

Dan looked at him again with those wide, amazed eyes. “You don’t care if they look at you like that?” Phil shook his head. “It doesn’t make you … I don’t know … embarrassed? Or angry?”

Phil shrugged. “I guess it makes me a little bit angry, because they’re closed-minded jerks, but I’m not going to let that ruin how nice it feels to walk with you.”

Dan frowned slightly. “So you can be angry at them, but happy at the same time?” Phil thought about it, and then nodded. Holding Dan close by his side as they walked felt lovely, and he wasn’t going to let anyone else’s judgmental stares take that away from him. Dan nodded uncertainly in response, and then slid his hand down to twine his fingers with Phil’s, and suddenly they were holding hands instead of just linking arms. It felt even better, and Phil turned to smile at Dan, who looked as if afraid of Phil’s reaction. Phil squeezed Dan’s fingers, and Dan gave him a hesitant look of such delight that Phil wished he himself had initiated the gesture.

They received even more disapproving looks accompanied by pointed glances at their hands, but also some smiles and nods from other people who apparently approved of the public gesture of affection. Dan ducked his head in embarrassment and Phil gave his hand a reassuring caress with his fingertips. Dan’s cheeks went a bit pink, and Phil held his hand more firmly. “Is this okay?” he asked, not wanting to make Dan uncomfortable, but Dan just nodded with a bit of an awkward shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t want to make you nervous or…” but Dan simply squeezed Phil’s hand in answer and looked down at his feet again.

“I really like the shoes,” Dan said softly, so quietly that Phil almost didn’t hear him among the bustle of the crowd.

“I really like that you really like the shoes,” Phil said with a grin, and Dan chuckled.

* * *

Dan insisted that they go to the clothing donation centre next, because he wanted to give back the shoes they had given him, and he wanted to finally get a chance to thank them properly.

The staff at the donation centre didn’t remember him, but when he asked about Henry, the woman in charge smiled widely. “Oh, Henry is always bringing in strays.” Then she flushed and hurried to add, “I don’t mean you, of course!”

Phil watched Dan as he talked and smiled, thanking the woman for the shoes and for helping him when he needed it. “I’m sorry I behaved so badly before. Even if you don’t remember me, I remember that I … I was rather angry at the time and didn’t appreciate the kindness people were showing.”

The woman waved a hand and then patted Dan gently on the arm. “Lots of folks who come in here are a little angry at the world, but sometimes they’ve got good reasons. The world isn’t always easy, and not everyone is kind. It’s understandable that folk might take affront once in a while.”

Phil thought about that, and about Dan’s anger earlier. Then he thought about Martyn’s texts, and decided that he owed his brother a significant apology. Martyn had been justified in feeling abandoned, and he deserved more support from Phil than he’d gotten. Phil left Dan absorbed in conversation with the donation centre staff and patted him on the shoulder before stepping a few feet away to pull out his phone.

**Phil:** I’m sorry I was such a prat last weekend. You’re completely right.

**Martyn:** I just thought you’d stand up for me you know?

**Phil:** I know. And I will. I’m thinking about coming home again at the weekend to talk to mum and dad about the piano.

**Martyn:** you don’t have to do that

**Phil:** No, but I think I should. I want to make this right.

**Martyn:** i’m sorry i was such a twat

**Martyn:** you’re not so bad after all

Phil laughed, then tucked his phone back in his pocket and looked over at Dan talking excitedly, wearing his leather shoes with the zips that had made him so happy. Phil knew that a pair of shoes wasn’t enough.

Dan turned to look at him, and Phil tried to smile, but inside he felt like crying again, like he still sat on the floor of the flat with that avenging angel looking down on him. He watched Dan, and for the first time he noticed a dimple appear in his cheek as he smiled at the shelter staff. He’d never given Dan reason to smile enough for him to see that dimple—he’d only derided and debased Dan, treated him as less than human even before he knew anything about his origins.

Had he somehow accidentally created a person, only to treat him like rubbish? Was this what he’d meant when he said he wanted to be a good person? His heart ached with self-loathing, with pain for Dan lying curled on the floor in the corner all those nights, with grief for all the tears Dan had shed, with anger at himself for causing it all.

But then Dan turned and smiled at him, and Phil saw that Dan had dimples in both cheeks, and he felt his heart thump a little faster, a little harder in his chest. He found that he loved Dan’s smile, and he suddenly felt a rush of longing to make all of this right for him. But, after all he’d done to Dan, he knew nothing would ever be enough to make it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go!


	8. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan and Phil reach the end of their emotional journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the final chapter! Many thanks again to the wonderful @ribenaflip, who came up with the initial story idea in the Phandom Reverse Bang on Tumblr and produced such beautiful art. Additional thanks to @jorzuela, @myaani, @insectbah, @popcornphangirl, @blackteelester, and probably some other people I’m forgetting (sorry!) for their invaluable feedback, suggestions, and encouragement at various points in the process. I can't believe I finally finished this thing!

******— PHIL —**

Phil insisted on taking Dan to a sweets shop, because he never kept sweets around the house—he had no self-control—and so Dan had never had candy. Dan just looked around the shop with wide eyes, looking at all the colors and shapes, and when Phil asked him what he wanted, Dan just shook his head and said, “I don’t know. What do you think is best?”

Phil searched through the store for all his favorites, especially things he thought Dan might like, and ended up with three different kinds of Haribo, several varied chocolate bars (including one with caramel filling), and a bag of pink and white marshmallows.

They took their treats out to the park and sat on a bench, watching swans on the lake. “Look at that one,” Phil pointed in amusement. “It’s like he’s in a race or something.”

Dan replied with a mouth full of dark chocolate, “That’s a swan on a mission!”

Phil also pointed out the hill of daffodils nearby, which Dan agreed were beautiful in the bright sunlight. They’d been lucky enough to go out on a particularly fine day.

When Phil saw Dan holding one of the Haribo twin cherry gummies up toward the sun a bit later, he asked, “What are you doing?”

Dan turned to smile at him, and those dimples were very much evidence now. “I’m looking at how the sun shines through the colors, like the stained glass windows in your flat. It’s beautiful.”

Phil winced, remembering how the stained glass had shattered when Dan broke it, how angry Dan had been, and how right Dan had been to be angry. He thought of all the things he’d done, how badly he’d wronged the man now smiling at him with his colorful piece of candy held up to the sunlight, and the guilt nearly crushed him.

He looked down at the ground, not even noticing the pink and white marshmallows that fell out of the bag in his hand until Dan cried, “Whoa!” in a happy, giddy voice, and reached over to hold Phil’s hands steady, bringing the bag upright again. Dan laughed and said, “I didn’t think you bought those to feed the pigeons.”

Phil shook his head, marveling at how much Dan had changed in such a short period of time. He’d been so dark when he first appeared in the corner of the bedroom, so angry and in so much pain. And now his warm hands held Phil’s while he smiled, and it was the most intoxicating smile Phil thought he’d ever seen. He wanted to make Dan smile that way every day for the rest of his life.

* * *

**— DAN —**

On their walk back toward the flat, they saw a man sitting on the pavement with his back against a wall. “Henry!” Dan called and rushed forward. The man looked up, and Dan saw an unfamiliar face, so he pulled to an abrupt stop, saying, “Oh. Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” It wasn’t Henry at all, just another man wearing shabby clothes with similar dark hair.

The man held out a dirty hand. “Spare change?” he begged. “A pound coin? Even 50p?”

Dan frowned, glanced at Phil, then looked back at the man on the ground. “I don’t have any money,” Dan apologized, but then remembered. “But I do have some leftover Haribo.” He held out the half-full bag of twin cherries, offering them, but the ragged man just looked at the bag in puzzlement.

“Don’t need sweets,” the man grumbled. “Give me money or be on your way, boy.”

Dan recoiled, pulling the precious bag of candy back to hold it against his chest. He’d loved the twin cherries, but he’d been willing to give them away, because he remembered what it was like to have nothing.

Phil had been reaching into his pocket, but at the man’s words he abruptly pulled his hand out to rest on Dan’s arm. “He was trying to be kind,” Phil snapped at the man, then slid his hand up to Dan’s elbow and led him away. Dan went along, docile as a child, feeling confused and sad.

“I don’t have any money,” Dan told Phil, “but I wanted to share. I know what it felt like when people helped me, so I wanted to help him, too. You know?”

Phil nodded, walking arm-in-arm with Dan again now. He squeezed Dan’s forearm gently again. “You’re a good man.”

Dan felt darkness swamp him. “I’m not a man at all. I don’t know what I was thinking, trying to help someone … when I’m not even a person myself. Who am I to do anything good? I’m made of badness. Everything you didn’t want.” He pulled away from Phil and wrapped his arms around himself, looking down at his feet as they walked. He could feel it again, that pull toward blankness, and he knew it was because he wasn’t real. He had no right to even exist.

Beside him, Phil shook his head vigorously. “You’re more than that now, Dan. You’ve changed. I’ve seen you change. You were so happy in the park, and so kind with the homeless man. Those aren’t dark emotions.” But Dan didn’t believe him. He knew the truth now about himself—he’d learned it from the notebook—and Phil’s words meant nothing. “You’re a real person, Dan. You’re good and generous…” but Phil’s words faded away because Dan wasn’t listening.

* * *

**— PHIL —**

Dan seemed very closed off, lost in his own thoughts, as they walked back toward the flat. Phil thought about the joy in his face when he’d offered the candy to the homeless man, and how crushed he’d looked when his gift was rejected.

All Dan had wanted to do was help, something that made it so obvious that he had grown in the brief time since he’d appeared. He was gentle and kind and sad and happy and hurt and guilty and … human. Whatever had brought Dan into this world, Phil now saw him as human.

And it hurt to see him hurting. How could Phil help? Dan had only wanted to give, to offer something to someone in need. Well, Phil actually felt a little guilty, now that he thought about it, about how much he himself had when others had so little. When Dan had been so grateful just for a pair of shoes.

“Maybe we could donate some more stuff to the centre,” Phil suggested uncertainly. Would this help Dan feel better? He still seemed very distant.

“We could go through my stuff,” Phil elaborated. “Maybe pull out some clothes I don’t wear much, and I think I have a blanket I don’t use because my auntie gave it to me and it’s hideous. We could take some stuff back to the donation centre. Would you like that?”

Dan nodded, looking thoughtful, and lifted his face to meet Phil’s gaze for the first time in what felt like ages. “Even just being able to do something small would be good,” Dan explained earnestly. “Even if we can’t fix everything for everyone, just … you know, maybe somebody’s cold and could use that blanket tonight.” He looked at Phil with eyes shining now, bright and … not happy exactly, but hopeful. “We could help. Even if we can’t fix it all, we could help. Like the people who donated the shoes helped me, even though they never met me.”

“Let’s go, then, and get some bags of stuff to take to the donations. Maybe especially some warm socks. Maybe I even have some shoes. I have the biggest clown feet ever, so if there’s anybody out there who needs shoes and they’ve got feet my size, they’ll have trouble finding anything that fits!” Dan chuckled when Phil referred to his clown feet, then began to speed up when Phil’s apartment building came into view. He grabbed Phil’s hand and practically dragged him along, obviously excited.

They dug through Phil’s closet and dresser, pulling out ragged hoodies that Dan insisted some people would be happy to wear, and which Phil admitted were just gathering dust. Phil even found a coat that he didn’t wear anymore, because it had gotten a bit too snug in the shoulders, and Dan actually hugged him. “Somebody’s going to have a coat because of you! Somebody who would have been cold is going to be warm because of you!” Then his face grew more solemn, and he said more quietly, “I was warmer out on the street because of a coat that someone like you donated. You’ll be helping someone like me.” He looked into Phil’s face with eyes full of some emotion Phil couldn’t identify.

* * *

**— DAN —**

They walked back to the donation centre together to drop off the things they’d gathered from Phil’s flat, and Dan was delighted to see Henry sitting at one of the tables in the centre. Dropping the bags he’d been carrying, he ran to Henry and shook his hand. The other man looked quite surprised, but immediately recognized Dan and asked him how the shoes and coat had suited him.

“They’re good,” Dan replied dismissively, “but I wanted to thank you for helping me. You were so kind, and I never even thanked you.”

Henry just shook his head and smiled. “You were in a bad way. I could see that. I’m glad you’re doing better now.”

Dan nodded eagerly. “I am. I have a … a friend … and he’s helping me. We brought some of his things to donate.”

Henry grinned with a twinkle in his eye and replied, “Your ‘friend’ seems a mite jealous of all the attention you’re giving me. Mayhap you should go back to him?”

Dan glanced over his shoulder to see Phil scowling, but he looked down at the floor as soon as Dan’s eyes met his. “He isn’t jealous,” Dan disagreed, though he didn’t know how else to explain Phil’s expression. “Will you come meet him? He’s a good person.”

Henry came with him, and at first Phil was stiff and formal, but he quickly began to relax in response to Henry’s easy friendliness. After they’d given all their bags to the staff of the donation centre, Dan was shocked to hear Phil say, “I was thinking Dan and I might go to dinner on the way home. Would you like to come along, Henry? It would be my treat and my honor if you would join us.”

“Oh no!” Henry recoiled. “I couldn’t go anywhere fancy looking like this!” He gestured down at his clothes, which while clean enough were very obviously not new. Like Dan, he’d gotten his things from the donation centre, so they were other people’s cast-offs, but Phil insisted that he looked fine, that they wouldn’t go anywhere “fancy.”

Henry hesitated a long time, then tentatively suggested, “There’s a tap out back I can use to give my face and hands a good scrub, and then I’d be obliged.” He grinned, and though he was missing an eye tooth on one side, it was a beatific smile. “I haven’t eaten in a restaurant in I don’t know how long, and I’d be glad of the company.” Dan looked at Phil and saw the same joy in those pale eyes, as well.

* * *

**— PHIL —**

Dinner with Dan and Henry absolutely delighted Phil. They both enjoyed the food with such relish and appreciation that he couldn’t help but feel joy watching them as they all ate.

He’d taken them to a little Ethiopian place he liked, because he knew Dan liked using the spongey bread to scoop up the various different dishes. Dan enjoyed variety in his meals: multiple tastes and textures, things he could dip into various sauces for a different experience. Within that sometimes gloomy exterior, a hedonist lurked, and tonight Phil loved getting to indulge him.

Henry had remarkably good table manners for someone in such unfortunate living circumstances. Phil speculated that he had perhaps once lived a much easier life and wondered what had led to his current state of affairs, but it seemed extremely indelicate to ask, so he held his questions and just enjoyed the man’s cheerful company.

This man had shown great kindness to Dan when Phil himself had given Dan nothing but pain. Phil would never forget that, and if there was ever any way he could help Henry without injuring the man’s pride, he would do it. He didn’t have much on a college student’s budget, but the simultaneous guilt and gratitude weighed on him, and he would very much like to be able to offer kindness in return.

After their meal, Henry insisted he had places to go, and so they bid him goodbye. Phil shook his hand and told him quite honestly that it had been wonderful to meet him.

Along their walk home, Dan shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, falling into silence. He seemed lost in thought as they walked side by side. Phil, too, found himself lost in thought … though about the man who walked by his side.

He couldn’t deny that Dan had changed, and had changed into someone Phil liked very much. Perhaps he had started out as some creature—as an inexplicable result of a horrendously stupid and prideful experiment—but he had obviously become much more. He loved shoes with zips. He saw stained glass in gummy candies. He eagerly walked, carrying heavy bags, half an hour to donate clothes to strangers in need. He loved different flavors and textures of food and would give an enthusiastic monologue about the brilliance of condiments if given the chance.

How Dan had been created—and how he had managed to change into something more complex and admirable, something more human, more **whole** —none of it made any scientific sense. Science said Dan was an impossibility … or if not impossible, certainly not human. Phil’s scientific mind had tried to convince him of this nearly every moment for days until he had been forced to admit the fallibility of chemical formulae and the scientific method and everything he’d written in his notebooks or heard at university seminars. Something had happened here which could not be explained, and he had stopped trying to explain it, because it didn’t matter.

For the very first time in his entire life, Phil found himself thinking that science was overrated. That maybe sometimes truth and science were not the same thing.

Out of nowhere, Phil found himself saying, “I’m sorry I called you the wrong name for so long.”

Dan looked over at him, frowning. “What?”

“‘Don,’” Phil reminded him. “I called you ‘Don’ for days. And you were so afraid of me that you didn’t tell me. I’m sorry I made you feel that way, and I’m sorry I called you the wrong name.”

Dan scuffed his foot along the pavement and shrugged his tense shoulders. “It was my fault for not speaking up.” Then he looked over at Phil again and smiled a little. “You turned out to not be so bad.”

Phil shook his head. “No. I was. I was arrogant, and rude, and I thought I knew everything. I thought I could make the world better by getting rid of feelings like anger and pain … but you taught me how wrong I was. When you shouted at me about Martyn, when you threw that paperweight and broke the window, I realized that sometimes anger is the right response. To stand up for justice, to stand up for other people.”

Phil stopped walking, but it took Dan a moment to notice. When he did notice, he stopped and turned to look at Phil, who watched him beneath the moon and street lamps. Dan looked nothing like that grotesque “creature” who had first appeared in the corner of Phil’s bedroom. Well, sure, there were similarities, but this man he’d come to know … he was no “creature.” He was a man. A man who had said he loved Phil.

A man Phil maybe could even love in return. Maybe already **did** love.

But how could that be possible when the experiment had created Dan out of everything Phil hated? How could Phil love the same things he had hated so much that he had worked years to find a way to be rid of them?

Biting his lip, Phil stared at Dan, who stood a few feet away. Dan cocked his head in question. “Maybe,” Phil began uncertainly, “maybe it isn’t about whether the emotion is right or wrong. Or if it’s good or bad. Maybe it’s just about being honest about what you feel.” Dan just watched him, a little crease between his eyebrows, but said nothing. Phil thought of Dan smashing the stained glass window in righteous rage, Dan’s happiness at the sight of Henry at the donation centre, Phil’s anger at the homeless man who had hurt Dan’s feelings when he offered the Haribo, Phil’s guilt at realizing he’d let down his beloved little brother, Phil’s gratitude and humility in the face of Henry’s kindness to Dan when Phil himself had offered nothing but cruel indifference. “Maybe,” Phil continued slowly, “maybe the good and bad stuff is all part of what it means to be human.” And Dan had been the one to teach him that. How ironic.

But at Phil’s words, Dan looked away.

* * *

**— DAN —**

He’d been feeling that pull all day, but he’d tried to ignore it. He could just fade away. Go blank. Cease to exist.

Except now, hearing Phil say those words, Dan realized that this wasn’t about him ceasing to exist. It was just … he thought back to the entries in Phil’s experiment notebook. Phil’s experiment had accidentally created Dan as a body to contain all the negative emotions Phil was trying to eradicate.

But now it seemed like Phil had begun accepting those emotions in himself, which meant …

Well … it meant Dan had no reason to exist anymore.

So when he felt that pull again, he realized it was different now. It wasn’t a pull to blankness, to eradication. It was a pull toward Phil. The experiment had separated him from Phil, but the need for that separation had ended. They could be together.

“It’s going to be okay,” Dan told Phil gently, understanding now what was going to happen.

Phil misunderstood, assuming that Dan’s words were a response to his own. “I know. I’m not trying to shut down feeling sad or guilty or … jealous … or whatever. Not anymore. I understand now. You’re the one who taught me.” Phil took a step closer to him and took Dan’s hand. The shadows of the dark city beyond the lamp light obscured the pale color of Phil’s eyes, and Dan found himself wishing he could see those eyes in this moment, that he could look into Phil’s expressive gaze as he faded away, because he knew that’s what was coming. He felt a pulse of energy from Phil’s hand in his, but he knew what was going to happen next.

“Don’t worry about me,” Dan reassured Phil, who frowned in confusion. Dan squeezed his hand, and felt the first flickerings of something happening as his grasp on Phil’s desperate hand became a bit less substantial. Dan felt no fear, though, because he knew he wasn’t really fading away, wasn’t going blank, wasn’t ceasing to exist … he was rejoining with Phil, where he’d come from in the first place, and so they would always be together. Dan would always be a part of Phil.

This was nothing to be afraid of. He smiled gently into Phil’s eyes, still wishing he could see them more clearly for these last few moments, but also happy to have seen them as much as he had. Happy to have had the time he’d had.

“I do love you,” Dan added, because he wanted to make sure to get that in before he faded completely. “I’ll always love you. I’ll be … a part of you … that loves yourself, you know?” He felt a tear on his cheek and impatiently swiped it away. This wasn’t a sad moment. He felt a strange joy in knowing that he and Phil would truly be one. Forever. “When you look in the mirror and feel good about yourself, that’s going to be me thinking how much I love you.”

Phil’s face had grown increasingly pale, and his other hand reached over so that now both his hands grasped Dan’s … which grew increasingly insubstantial. “What are you talking about?” Phil demanded in desperation, but Dan just smiled even more gently and tried to squeeze Phil’s fingers reassuringly with a hand that faded more with each second.

* * *

**— PHIL —**

Even as Phil watched, Dan began to fade before his very eyes, and Phil somehow knew that he himself was absorbing all the complex emotions Dan had embodied, all the emotions Phil had rejected from himself and yet grew to love when he came to know them in this young man he’d known for such a short time but who had taught him so much. He knew that the emotions Dan represented would live within him forever, and so the boy he’d loved would always be with him, always a part of him, always in his heart.

But Dan had become so much more than that! He wasn’t just some part of Phil that the experiment had separated out. Somehow, it made no sense but somehow he’d become his own person, with a whole variety of emotions, a unique set of likes and dislikes, a personality that belonged to Dan and Dan alone.

“No,” Phil growled and reached out to grab Dan by both arms. Dan felt insubstantial beneath his hands, like a dream you try to grasp as you wake, a dream that escapes you even as you attempt to hold onto it, a dream lost to you forever as the real world steps between you and takes its place.

But Dan was not a dream, and Dan was not just a part of Phil. Dan was a person. Dan loved Thai green curry and playing Fortnite and daffodils in the sun and his hand warm in Phil’s as they walked down the street. Dan was real, Dan was whole, and Dan would **not** disappear! Phil would not allow it, would not let this happen, would not lose this person he had only begun to know but loved already!

“No!” Phil insisted, and he abruptly pulled Dan forward, sealing their lips together in their first kiss, Dan’s lips gossamer against his. But Phil called to mind every emotion he felt, every emotion Dan had shown him and that he had experienced himself—emotions he’d once labeled as good or bad, positive or negative, desirable or undesirable—emotions he’d once tried to deny or reject but which he now saw were simply a part of being human—emotions that were all different but were all undeniably **real** —emotions he’d seen not only in himself but also in Dan—and he poured that pure realness, that **reality** into his kiss, into **Dan**.

And very slowly, oh so very slowly, even as Phil had almost begun to lose hope, those lips grew firmer against his, and Phil felt them move against him, caressing him in return as their kiss became reciprocal and all those complex, wonderful emotions were shared between him and Dan. He sensed that they both felt it all fully—the reality, the humanity, the acceptance and wonder and value of all that came with being a person who felt everything it was possible to feel without judging any of it, without rejecting any of it, and instead welcoming all of it as strong and complex and necessary and **real**.

When he finally pulled away from the kiss, he saw Dan solid in front of him, his skin warm and firm beneath his hands, and Dan smiled. “You saved me,” Dan murmured in wonder.

“I made you real,” Phil replied, dazed. He pressed his hands to Dan’s chest, then ran a hand through the chestnut waves of hair, gently brushed the back of his fingers against Dan’s flushed cheek, looked into those familiar brown eyes. Dan was real. He could feel it—Dan had changed—he’d become something different. Somehow, with some combination of his ill-conceived chemical solution and the force of his own will, Phil had created a living, breathing person.

The power of it frightened him, and he knew that he must destroy the formula immediately, that no one—not even he himself—should have that kind of power, but first he allowed himself a long moment to pull Dan into a tight, desperate hug.

* * *

**— DAN —**

“I almost lost you,” Phil whispered into Dan’s brown curls.

“You would never have lost me,” Dan insisted. “I would always have been with you.” He tried to pull away to look into Phil’s face, but Phil clutched at him, and Dan felt the realness of that hug, the solidity of his body in Phil’s arms.

Tears sprang to Phil’s eyes and he choked, “But you wouldn’t have been you. Not really you. Not like you are now. I wouldn’t have gotten to keep you for real.”

Finally Dan succeeded in extricating himself from Phil’s arms, only to cradle Phil’s face in his hands and press their lips together again, gentle but undeniably there, undeniably staying. Then, when that kiss came to a slow, lingering end, Dan murmured against his lips, “You’ll never get rid of me now.” And Phil laughed on a bit of a sob.

Dan felt a full range of emotions rushing through him. He could feel the difference within himself, a sort of wholeness that he hadn’t even realized had been missing. And he knew he had become real. Phil had made him real. No longer just a “creature” or a receptacle for unwanted emotions. Phil had used the power of his own emotions to bring Dan to complete reality.

The concept seemed impossible. And yet, here he stood.

He looked at Phil in amazement and marveled, “How did you do it?”

Phil cradled Dan’s face in his hands, there under the street lamps and the nearly full moon, and pressed another soft kiss to his lips before answering, “I felt all the emotions, all at once, and I realized the most important one was love. I just … put that into my kiss.”

“You saved me with love,” Dan repeated. After a moment, he rolled his eyes. “That’s so cheesy!”

Phil barked out a surprised laugh, then replied, “It’s not supposed to be cheesy! It’s supposed to be romantic!”

“Well,” Dan drawled slowly, “I’m probably not the best judge, to be honest.”

“Neither am I,” Phil admitted. “I know a lot more about literal chemical reactions than the metaphorical ones that apparently bring people together.”

That made Dan grin. “We’ve got an advantage there, though. It was chemistry that brought us together in the first place, so I’m sure we’ll figure it out.” He leaned over to kiss Phil soundly. Solidly. Like a real person kissing another real person, and he knew he was right. They’d figure it out. Together.

Phil held him tightly and nodded, pressing their foreheads together there on the sidewalk after their lips had reluctantly parted. “Let’s go home,” he whispered, and pulled away to gaze tenderly into Dan’s face.

Dan nodded, knowing he’d get to see those beautiful eyes in full light again not only now but every day, and the thought made him happier than any former receptacle of negative emotions had any right to be.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has 8 chapters, and I’m hoping to post a chapter each week.
> 
> As always, you can also find me on Tumblr at [@adorkablephil](http://adorkablephil.tumblr.com/). Feel free to say hi any time!


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